


50 Shades of Hale

by skargasm



Series: 50 Shades of Hale [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom Peter Hale, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, F/M, Films, Gen, Inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Sub Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26859790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skargasm/pseuds/skargasm
Summary: Stiles Stilinski finds himself falling under the spell of Peter Hale, a secretive man with a darkness inside that Stiles is inexplicably drawn to.Veryloosely based on Fifty Shades of Grey, with more than a twist or two.ON INDEFINITE HIATUS
Relationships: Derek Hale/Jackson Whittemore, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: 50 Shades of Hale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962667
Comments: 142
Kudos: 179





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mephistopholes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mephistopholes/gifts), [TummySassAndAss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TummySassAndAss/gifts), [Winterlynne_Norvic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlynne_Norvic/gifts).



> This is not like my normal WiP. First of all, I'm not sure if I'm going to keep working on this - I got the idea into my head, did a couple of banners and started writing. I don't know if I'm going to carry on.
> 
> Also, if I do write it, this will not be a rewrite of 50 Shades of Grey. It's **very** loosely based around it, with similar scenarios but there will be general smushing of characters, different settings and lots of stuff that might make you go 'that wasn't in the book/movie'.
> 
> All of that being said, I've written 1 chapter today which is just over 3000 words so I thought I would post it for you guys to read. 
> 
> I repeat: **I may not write another word of this** , so read it at your own risk!
> 
> * * *

[ ](https://imgur.com/g0Ja4R7)

His first thought was that the boy was pretty. Nothing particularly special, but the pale skin and moles were attractive. Then he took in the mouth – soft, pink lips that seemed to be constantly parted, a tongue darting out to moisten them; a slightly upturned nose; amber eyes that sparkled as he talked, darting from place to place as he took in his surroundings. 

Perhaps that was when he began to fall.

* * *

“All I need is fifteen minutes – I promised Jackson that I’d do this interview for him since he’s sick! Look, Mr Hale already has the time set aside – does it matter that it’s not the person he was expecting?” Stiles tried to give a winning smile to the Personal Assistant that was guarding the entrance to Peter Hale’s office, knowing that if he went back to the apartment without the interview, Jackson would whine for days. 

“I’ll speak to him but this is highly irregular, Mr?”

“Stilinski. He’s expecting Jackson Whittemore but my name is Stiles Stilinski.”

“Fine. Take a seat and I’ll see what I can do.” She gestured towards the uncomfortable looking chairs set opposite her desk and Stiles gave her a wink, before making his way to them. Better than he could have hoped for – he had half expected to be tossed out on his ear, let alone made it past the security down at reception and be allowed this close. 

Flipping quickly through the questions that Jackson had written down for him to ask, he stifled a chuckle. Standard, yawn-fest questions that would say absolutely nothing about who Peter Hale really was. But what else could be expected? It was hardly a major production – this was a filler piece for the final print of the college paper. 

“Mr Stilinski?” He looked up when he heard his name, jumping to his feet and juggling his messenger bag, the notepad and piece of paper full of questions and his pens as he made his way over to her again.

“Mr Hale has agreed to see you – please be aware that you only have fifteen minutes and this is a courtesy,” she admonished him, stepping out from behind her desk and leading him to a set of double doors. “Just go through there.”

“Thanks – erm, Paige,” he said, taking a surreptitious look at the staff badge she was wearing before reaching for the doors and pushing one of them forward. Typical of him, he tumbled through, dropping his bag, the notepad and his hoody onto the floor as he stumbled. “Shit!” 

“Can I be of assistance?” Stiles looked up from his position on his knees, taking in firm, muscular thighs encased in expensive pants, past a trim waist to a broad chest encased in a black, silk shirt. The thick, muscled throat gave him pause and he swallowed audibly before finally allowing his eyes to move up to the face staring down at him.

Peter Hale was beautiful: clean-cut jawline, sculpted lips, sharp cheekbones, but it was his eyes that trapped Stiles and made him breathless. They were a pale blue, intense and almost gleaming as they stared down at Stiles.

“I – um – I’m here for the interview!”

“Jackson Whittemore?”

“No – Jax is ill. I took his place. I’m his replacement,” he said, climbing to his feet and trying to get all of his belongings into a pile that he could hold onto whilst holding out his hand for Hale to shake. The hand that gripped his was firm and dry, long fingers curving around his palm in what felt like a caress. Unbidden, Stiles felt his trousers tighten as he grew aroused. 

Grabbing his hand back, he concentrated on getting all of the stuff back into his messenger bag, relieved when Hale stepped back and he could catch his breath. Jesus, the man was potent and he’d barely said anything. Finally managing to get all of his belongings back where they belonged, he made his way to the chair placed opposite Hale’s desk, plonking himself down and pulling out the notepad. He couldn’t find any of his pens, rummaging through the bag frantically before a pen appeared in his eye line.

“Perhaps this would be of use?” He stared into Hale’s eyes, the piercing blue spearing him into place and making him shift uneasily in his seat.

“Thanks – I did have a pen, I swear, but it seems to have fallen into the lining of my bag. It’s got a few rips in it but it’s a good bag so I didn’t want to replace it unless I had to.” Realising he was rambling, Stiles forced himself to shut his mouth.

“That sounds very frugal.”

“I guess you don’t know much about being frugal, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t born to the Hale family – my past was not always as – _comfortable_ ,” Hale replied.

“Yeah – how come they adopted you? I mean, I read some bits and pieces and they had already adopted a young boy – is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. The Hales adopted Isaac to save him from a tough situation. They were very philanthropic people.” Hale’s tone was forbidding, as though Stiles had inadvertently stepped into territory that was sensitive and he coughed, flipping open the notepad and trying to find the questions Jackson had wanted him to ask.

“So – they adopted you when you were four, is that right?”

“That’s correct. However, I was never made to feel that I didn’t fit into the family – the other children were very welcoming and I was soon fully integrated.”

“Integrated? Okay – sounds a bit like a cult!” Stiles cursed his mouth as soon as he’d spoken but he could hardly take it back. To his surprise, Hale laughed, a full belly laugh that caused him to throw back his head. Stiles was momentarily mesmerised by the strong neck displayed by his movements before he allowed himself to feel relieved that he hadn’t managed to offend him. 

“Okay, well I’m going to try to stick to Jackson’s questions – less chance of me putting my foot into my mouth!” he said, flicking through what Jackson had written down in his chicken-scratch handwriting.

“Do you think, perhaps, that you should tell me your name?”

“Oh my God! I am so sorry! I thought your personal assistant or secretary would have said!!” Stiles flushed a deep pink, realising how rude he had been. “My name is Stiles – Stiles Stilinski. The guy who should have been doing the interview – Jackson – got sick and kinda roped me in as a stand-in – I swear, he would have been way more professional than me about the whole thing, although to be honest he probably would have been drooling over you almost as much as I am because he’s got a whole tall, dark, handsome kink too! Oh Jesus, please will you shut me up!”

“Maybe if you ask me a question?” Hale said, quite gently considering the circumstances.

“Oh right, yes! Okay – sorry. Right. To what do you owe the secret of your – Jesus, really Jackson? This was the best you could do?”

“The secret of my success?” Hale gave a weary-looking smile. “Hardly cutting edge, but nevertheless. Business is about people, and I’ve always been good at people. What motivates them, incentivizes them – what inspires them to do what they do. I have a very good instinct for what makes people tick and I use it to my advantage.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” Stiles bristled slightly, whilst Hale gave that patronising smirk again.

“I’ve always found that the harder I work, the _luckier_ I am. The main key to my success? Identifying successful people and harnessing their ingenuity, their drive, to work for me.”

“So you’re a control freak?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Don’t you like to be in control, Stiles?” There was something about the way Hale said his name that made Stiles’ stomach flutter – it made him feel like he had 100% of his attention, that everything was about him. It was unnerving, intense and powerful. 

“I think there’s a right time to be in control – but there’s something to be said for letting someone else take the wheel every now and then.” Stiles looked at Hale, trying to think about how to phrase his next question. “Are you like that with everything? All areas of your life?”

“Oh I definitely exercise control in **all** aspects of my life, Stiles. I find it ensures satisfaction – on all sides of the equation.” Hale leaned forward in his chair as he continued speaking. “Imagine, if you will, the ability to control every aspect of an experience – to ensure that the outcome is preordained because you have determined it to be so – it is immensely satisfying. And lucrative.”

Shaking his head, Stiles tried to clear his mind. For a moment, he had found himself wondering if Hale was still talking about business which was ridiculous because what else would he be talking about?

The silence between them grew, a strange tension that neither seemed able – or willing – to break. 

“Um – your company is involved primarily in the telecommunications sector, yet according to business records, you also invest in numerous agricultural projects, including several in some poorer countries. Is that something you feel passionate about? Feeding the poor?”

“It’s smart business.”

“Is that all?” Stiles felt vaguely disappointed.

“What else would it be?” Hale held his hands out in a questioning gesture. “Are you looking to find the soft, beating heart beneath the cold exterior, Stiles?”

“I just wonder if it has anything to do with your upbringing before you came to the Hales. If – perhaps – it’s a subject close to your heart and that’s why you invest in it.”

“Bold of you to assume that I have a heart – there are many who would tell you that I don’t possess one.” Hale leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands together and looking at Stiles over the top of them. “Diversification is important. If we don’t diversify, we wither and die. I am not in the business of failing.”

Intrigued, Stiles continued. “So, those people who would say that you don’t have a heart – why would they say that? Think that?”

“Probably because they know me well – or as well as any other business acquaintance. You don’t get this rich by making friends, Stiles.” Deep in thought, trying to figure out if there was more to this man than his cold exterior – something that matched the blazing blue eyes, perhaps – Stiles sat in silence. “Go on.”

“Sorry, yeah. Okay – do you have any other interests – apart from business I mean.”

“I enjoy a variety of physical pursuits – I am well aware that all work is not a good thing. I like to maintain a balance.” Hale smirked at him as if there was an amusing secret that Stiles wasn’t privy to. “It’s important to let the beast out every now and then, wouldn’t you say? You can’t keep it locked up forever.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Stiles replied. 

“Really? Are there no – _physical_ pursuits that you enjoy then?”

“I like hiking, I guess. And maybe running. But there hasn’t been a lot of time what with my studies.”

“Dedication to your studies is important, but you should attempt to get the whole university experience.”

“What – like drunken frat boys and wild parties?”

“Not for you, I take it?” Stiles shook his head then looked back down at his notes.

“You’re not married? Are you gay?” As soon as he said it, he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He was going to kill Jackson. “I’m sorry – Jackson can be a little – “

“Intrusive?”

“Curious! Although obviously if you don’t want to answer that – “

“I’m bisexual – perhaps Pan. I tend not to be interested in labels – I am much more interested in the person than the sex they are. As long as our – _desires_ – are in sync, I see no need to be concerned about about anything else.” Hale spoke confidently, obviously secure in his sexuality. “What about you?”

“What? Me? I’m gay – well, mainly attracted to men although there are some women – “

“I meant, did **you** have any questions for me, but thank you for the information.”

“I seriously shouldn’t have got out of bed this morning! I would love to tell you that this isn’t what I’m like, but I kinda am!” Pushing past his embarrassment, Stiles asked the question that had been bothering him. “Earlier you said that people who know you well would say that you don’t have a heart. Why do I get the feeling that that isn’t true – that there are people out there who know you well, I mean.”

“Interesting questions, Stiles and – “ The door opened and the Personal Assistant appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me, Mr Hale, your next meeting has arrived and is waiting for you in the Conference Room.”

“Cancel it, please, Paige – we’re not finished here.” She nodded and disappeared, closing the door almost silently behind her. Stiles was already gathering his belongings to him, embarrassed to have run over his allotted time. 

“No – I’m so sorry, I can go – “

“Nonsense – I’m actually beginning to feel like we’re getting somewhere interesting.” Obediently, Stiles returned to his seat, waiting for what Hale might have to say. “I want to know about you.”

“There’s not a lot to know, to be fair.”

“Oh I doubt that. What are you studying?”

“I’m an English Major, with a minor in Mythical Creatures.”

“Really?” Hale had leant forward again, seeming to be extremely interested in Stiles’ response. “What drew you to that?”

“I’ve always had an interest in mythical tales – the supernatural aspect of things. I mean, all of those stories and myths could have a basis in fact – why would full humans be the only ones here? But I mean, that’s just me being fanciful, I guess, hence me studying English as my Major. I love to read – stories, history – all of that just – yeah, I’m into all of that.” Feeling like he had rambled a little, Stiles stumbled to a halt.

“And your plans after you graduate?”

“Oh hell, I have no idea! I may go back home – I come from Beacon Hills, and my Dad still lives there.”

“I know Beacon Hills well.”

“Do you?”

“You really didn’t prepare well for this interview, did you Stiles?”

“I did say it was dumped on me kinda suddenly.”

“True. Yes – my family has a – base in Beacon Hills. I was actually contemplating spending some time there – it’s more than possible to run my offices from satellite offices.” Peter looked thoughtful and Stiles found himself wishing he could tell what was going on in his head.

“Wow, I didn’t know that. You probably know my Dad then – he’s the Sheriff there.”

“I thought I recognised the name – it is rather distinctive.”

“Yep, that’s me – Sheriff’s kid. Nothing but mischief and trouble since I was knee-high to my Dad!”

“You should consider one of our internships – we run them from Beacon Hills too.”

“Oh I don’t think I’d fit in here,” Stiles said, laughing a little.

“Why not?”

“Um – look at me? I hardly fit the image.”

“I have been looking at you – and I think you would fit extremely well,” Hale said, smiling again. There was another loaded silence and Stiles once again shifted nervously in his seat. He wanted to know more, but not the interview questions that Jackson had given him – he wanted to see if he could crack that urbane exterior and find the man beneath. The comment about letting the beast out intrigued him and he wanted to dig further. His father had always said he would get himself into trouble with his need to know more. Hale continued to stare at him, a glint in his eye that made Stiles’ collar feel tight. He coughed nervously, not knowing what to say. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Yeah – I mean, I think you only answered a few questions but I’m pretty sure Jackson can put something together from that.” He grabbed his bag and got to his feet, watching as Hale got up from his chair and stepped around the desk. He came close to Stiles, their bodies almost brushing, and Stiles was instantly incredibly aware of the heat emanating from Hale. A hand at the base of his spine guided him towards the door and he moved in a weird haze, feeling every millimetre of contact between them. 

As they reached the elevator, Hale reached out and plucked the piece of paper that contained Jackson’s questions, holding it up to Stiles with a smile.

“I’ll have a look at these – see if I can provide a little more information.”

“That would be great but you don’t have to,” Stiles replied, the ping of the elevator arriving making him jump.

“I think you’ll find that there’s very little that I do that I don’t want to, Stiles.” Hale encouraged him into the elevator and on auto-pilot, Stiles pressed the button for the ground floor. As the door began to close, Stiles was sure he saw a flicker of a deeper, more intense blue in Hale’s eyes as he nodded and said, “Stiles.”

“Peter.” It was the first time he had allowed himself to think of the man as anything other than ‘Hale’ and his throat and chest felt tight. The doors closed, breaking their eye contact and he slumped against the back of the elevator, taking deep breaths as though he’d been running. “Holy shit!”

* * *


	2. A little DIY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it slow burn if they haven't got naked by chapter 2?
> 
> And yes, I know I said I probably wasn't going to write any more of this - blame the skittles I've been consuming!
> 
> * * *

“Aren’t you meant to be in bed?” Stiles asked as he let himself into the apartment. Jackson was sat at the breakfast bar doing something on his laptop. “And before you lose your shit at me – “

“What the hell did you do to get all of this? It’s fucking gold, man – thanks Stiles!” Jackson collapsed into a paroxysm of coughs after his enthusiastic statement, enabling Stiles to hide his confusion. “He answered every single question and not with pre-formatted answers either! This is really great! What was he like?”

Stiles stood, hoody forgotten in his hand as he tried to think how to answer that question. How did he explain to Jackson exactly how Peter Hale had made him feel? There had been a pull – a cliched magnetic pull – that had made it difficult to take in his surroundings because **all** of his concentration had been on the man in front of him. 

“He was – fine.”

“Fine? Fine as in damn he’s fine or – “

“He was very polite, formal – courteous in a sort of old-fashioned way I suppose. He was very handsome – if you like that sort of thing,” Stiles replied, stepping into the kitchenette and absent-mindedly beginning to make a sandwich. 

“What – like the handsome hunk of man kind of thing?” Jackson replied, tapping at his laptop and turning it slightly so that Stiles could see that he was looking at pictures of Peter Hale. 

“Yeah – I mean – kinda intimidating? Very – cool, calm and collected. Like – intense,” Stiles managed to get out, still feeling like somehow he had missed the essence of Peter. 

“Intense, huh?” Jackson said, eyeing Stiles over the top of the laptop.

“Yeah – intense is a very good word for him.” Stiles buttered the bread, gesturing to Jackson. “Want one?”

“No thanks – this cold has pretty much destroyed my appetite,” Jackson replied, nevertheless eyeing Stiles’ sandwich hungrily. “So you were saying how _intense_ you found Mr Hale.”

“Don’t give me that look – I just thought he hid more than he revealed, that’s all,” Stiles protested, finishing putting the sandwich together and cutting it into halves. Before he could even turn to start putting condiments back into the fridge, Jackson had reached across the breakfast bar and snagged the plate.

“I changed my mind – even your garbage food looks good,” he said as he took a huge mouthful.

“You’re welcome – ape!” Stiles replied, re-opening the bread and beginning to make a new sandwich. 

“You gotta admit though, he’s hot.”

“Who’s hot?” Stiles replied, avoiding Jackson’s shrewd glance.

“Duh, your courteous, formal, polite Mr Hale,” Jackson said, his sneer mangled by the mouthful of food.

“I guess so.”

“Shame we don’t have any fresh photos of him – he rarely submits to non authorised shoots, uses his own team.” Jackson considered the photos a little longer. “And he’s nearly always wearing glasses – was he wearing glasses today? He makes me think of the sexy professor waiting to punish you!” Jackson gave an exaggerated body shudder whilst raising his eyebrows at Stiles.

“What is wrong with you? Can’t you be a normal person for once? And **none** of my professors make me think of sexy and wanting to be put over their desk and ravished!”

“I never mentioned being ravished,” Jackson said, smirking at Stiles with a self-satisfied look as he finished his sandwich. 

“I hate you,” Stiles said without malice, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“He rarely allows interviews – I wonder why? Do you think he has something to hide? I mean, his public bio _appears_ to say a lot but when you actually read it, it doesn’t really tell you anything about him.”

“Well maybe he just likes to keep his private life – private. _Some_ people don’t feel the need to live on social media like others I could mention!”

“OOOh, getting defensive of him are we now? Was there a – gasp – connection?!” 

“You are such a jackass!” When Jackson began coughing again, Stiles laughed. “And look, karma agrees with me.” Even so, Stiles grabbed a glass and poured some water from Jackson who accepted it gratefully. “I am hereby terminating this conversation!” 

With that, Stiles made his way into the living space and plonked onto the sofa, deliberately ignoring Jackson’s commentary as he continued looking at photos of Peter Hale.

* * *

By the weekend, Stiles had managed to put most of his encounter with Peter Hale out of his mind – despite Jackson’s near-constant teasing. He was getting ready for finals as well as packing up the apartment for the move back to Beacon Hills. He had enough on his plate – even working today had been something he hadn’t particularly wanted to do, but Harris had insisted, so here he was. 

He walked into one of the aisles, coming to a halt as he found himself face to face with Peter Hale.

“I thought it was you,” Peter said and Stiles found himself thinking that he hadn’t imagined the impact of that voice: low, husky, each word precise pronounced and yet almost lazy. 

“Yeah, I – what the – what are you doing here?”

“What a pleasant surprise, Mr Stilinski.”

“Stiles – just Stiles. When you say Mr Stilinski it makes me want to turn around and check for my old man,” Stiles replied, still not quite able to comprehend that Peter Hale was here – in the hardware store that Stiles worked at – from out of nowhere. “You’re – _here_? I mean, why are you here?”

“I was in the area – on business. I realised I needed a few items and thought I would see if they were available. Are you able to assist me, I wonder?”

“Assist – ? I mean, help you find – Right – okay, yeah.” Stiles shook himself and tried to look professional. “What can I help you with?”

“Do you stock cable ties? Good quality, not easily snapped,” Peter said, smiling at Stiles.

“Cables ties – yes, we do. If you want to follow me, I’ll take you to them.”

“Of course I’ll follow you,” Peter responded, his voice smooth yet something in the tone made Stiles trip over his own feet as he began to walk to the appropriate aisle. Jesus. “Lead the way, Mr Stilinski.”

“Stiles.”

“Stiles.” Again, that voice caressing his name made Stiles shiver and he decided he must be coming down with Jackson’s ailment. He managed to find the cable ties with little difficulty and watched as Peter examined them as if they knew imperative to live, reading the back of the packet intensely.

“Is that it?”

“Masking tape. Please.”

“Are _you_ redecorating?” Stiles asked. 

“No. And why do you say it like that?”

“I guess I just assumed you just hired an interior designer to do up your place – all blacks and whites and minimalistic with steel,” Stiles rambled, smiling. Peter returned the smile whilst shaking his head. 

“No – I’m not redecorating. And when I did up my residence, my – family – helped me out. We’re very – discriminate about who we allow into our personal space.”

“Makes sense, I guess. Never know who’s going to sell you out to the press!” He gestured to the masking tape, watching as Peter took three rolls of various widths from the shelf. He seemed to be measuring them with his eyes and Stiles wondered idly what he was planning to do with the tape if he wasn’t decorating. “Was there anything else you needed?”

“Actually, yes. Do you have any rope? Not rough, just – binding.” Stiles knew he wasn’t imagining it – Peter was watching him carefully for his reaction and he deliberately schooled his face as blankly as possible. It was no business of his what Peter wanted to do with rope, cable ties and masking tape. Plausible deniability – if Peter was planning on killing someone and disposing of the body, Stiles wasn’t going to incriminate himself.

At the rope section, Peter played with various types of binding before selecting several yards of the most expensive – and softest – rope they had. 

“There you go – absolutely everything the organised murderer needs to bind a body for disposal!” Stiles blushed a deep red when he realised he had spoken out loud, relieved when Peter merely chuckled. 

“No body to bind today.”

“Not today, he says!” Stiles muttered under his breath, wondering if Peter heard him when he received a sharp glance. 

“Would you recommend anything else?”

“For what? For a little Do It Yourself? I mean – maybe some overalls so that your clothes are protected – no blood splatter on the expensive looking sweater,” Stiles replied, taking in the smooth knit black v-neck sweater that outlined Peter’s neck and clung jealously to the broadness of his chest. 

“Ah, but what if I prefer to bind bodies without my clothes on? I could just take all of my clothes off,” Peter replied and Stiles cursed as he dropped the rope he had finally managed to re-wrap and was about to put back on the hook where it belonged. 

“No clothes is good – I mean, cleaner – I mean, yeah, sure, no overalls!” he finally managed to say, shoving the rope haphazardly back onto the hook and putting his hands behind his back so that Peter couldn’t see that they were trembling. Taking a deep breath, he met Peter’s gaze. “Was there anything else or should I ring you up?”

“That will be all,” Peter replied, following Stiles down the aisle to where the cash register was. As he rang up Peter’s purchases, Stiles remembered his manners. “Thank you so much for answering all of Jackson’s questions – you went above and beyond and he really appreciated it.”  
  
“I trust that he has recovered from his illness?”

“Yeah, yeah – he’s doing great. Rampaging around trying to get clearance for a recent photograph of you, actually. Your people have so many hoops he has to jump through.”

“If he would like an original, I’m actually around tomorrow.” Stiles stopped, mouth falling open.

“What? I mean, really? You’d do that?”

“Yes, why not?” Peter seemed to be speaking to himself.

“Wow, that’s – oh, thank you,” Stiles said as Peter handed over his credit card without having to be asked. Running it through the machine with no issues, Stiles bagged up the purchases and held them over the counter that separated them. As Peter took the items from him, he placed a business card onto the counter. 

“I’m staying locally – at the Heliotrope. Call before ten if you want to arrange something,” Peter said and Stiles nodded, looking down at the card in confusion. “For the photos,” Peter clarified.

“Oh, right – yes, of course – for the photos. Oh, er – thanks.” Stiles picked up the business card but before he could say anything further, Peter had turned and left the store. “Man, what is it about that guy?” He said to himself as he hopelessly watched through the store window as Peter confidently crossed the street and climbed into a waiting limousine, a tall, curly hair blond man holding the door for him. “Jesus, Jackson is gonna shit a brick!”

* * *


	3. Mixed Messages

”I really don’t know how you managed this Stiles, but for once I’m not going to be an asshole about it – thank you so much!” Jackson and Stiles stood to the side as Peter Hale posed for photographs in front of the white background. He looked imposing and intimidating in a dark shirt and suit, his face completely unsmiling, his gaze often landing on Stiles in a way that made him nervous.

“If you could just smile a little, Mr Hale,” the photographer asked. Stiles didn’t know him – Peter had brought his own photographer with him and introduced him briefly as Theo Raeken. The smile Peter gave at Theo’s instruction looked more like a snarl and Theo gave an audible gulp, “okay, unsmiling it is.”

“Thanks again for doing this, Mr Hale,” Jackson said to Peter, who turned and gave him a guarded, much more pleasant smile. Theo clicked away, taking advantage of his inattention.

“You’re welcome, Mr Whittemore. I’ve had some dealings with your family – they seem a good sort,” Peter replied. 

Jackson nudged Stiles with his shoulder, turning to mutter, “You do realise he rarely takes his eyes off you, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Jackass,” Stiles muttered back, conscious of Peter’s eyes on him. If Stiles hadn’t thought he and Jackson were too far away to be heard speaking so quietly, he would have been convinced Peter heard them. “He – um – he asked me to go for coffee afterwards,” he admitted unwillingly.

“Nice,” said Jackson. “Remember all the stuff I told you?”

“Jackson! He said _coffee_ – not come back to my apartment so I can pound you into the mattress!” Peter coughed, his eyes widening and Stiles turned to him. “Do you need a drink of water? Or maybe a break?”

“No – I’m fine, thank you Stiles,” Peter replied, regaining his equilibrium. “Theo – let’s hurry this up, shall we? I’m aware that Talia needs you for a few things back at the house.”

“Yes, sir,” Theo replied. Things wrapped up quickly after that, Theo putting away the equipment and leaving after a brief goodbye. Jackson made himself scarce and Stiles found himself walking with Peter down the street to a local cafe.

“So – you appeared to like the look of Theo?” Peter asked, guiding Stiles around the people walking the street.

“What? Er – no, definitely not my type!”

“What about Jackson?”

“Ew, no! He’s more like my brother! We’ve been at school together since we were just kids – bonded over losing a parent, that kind of thing. He’s an asshole, but he’s **my** asshole!” Stiles grinned. “Although if you ask Jackson, he’d say he’s everyone’s type! Stupid thing is, I don’t think anything would make him happier than finding his person and settling down, maybe adopting some kids to make their lives better.”

“That’s admirable – very admirable. I did hear that Mr Whittemore lost his wife – that must have been difficult for Jackson.” They walked a little further down the street before Peter asked another question. “So, what is your type?” Peter asked, opening the door of the cafe and letting Stiles in ahead of him. Moving towards a booth, Stiles took a seat, relieved when Peter sat opposite him rather than next to him. He didn’t think he would have been able to think coherently if Peter had been up close.

“What?”

“Your type. What is your type?” Peter repeated, gesturing for the waitress with an imperious finger.

“I don’t know really. I’ve spent so much time concentrating on my studies, relationships haven’t really figured up until now.” Stiles took a quick look at the menu and asked for a hot chocolate with a shot of caramel, ignoring Peter’s slight grimace at the sweet tasting drink. The waitress returned quickly with their order and Stiles was relieved – the silence had been intimidating with Peter simply staring at Stiles across the table as though assessing him. 

“You seem nervous,” Peter said, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“You are kinda intimidating – the whole billionaire business man isn’t really within my sense of normal, if you get me,” Stiles replied, sipping his drink and burning his tongue on the hot sweetness.

“Intimidating? Here – eat,” Peter said, placing a muffin in front of Stiles and nodding approvingly when Stiles obediently took a bite.

“And a little high-handed. You’re very used to get exactly what you want, aren’t you?” Stiles said. He wished he hadn’t taken a bite of the muffin – it was fabulous but part of him wanted to rebel against Peter’s commands.

“I am rather used to getting my own way – and am generally quite determined once I make my mind up about something I want,” Peter replied, sipping his tea. 

“Must get boring – everyone kowtowing to you.”

“I didn’t say people kowtowed to me – merely that I like to ensure that things go my own way. You did note that I can be a control freak during our interview,” Peter replied, looking slightly smug.

“Yeah, well – I tend to not be very obedient. Just ask my Dad – apparently I was a handful when I was a kid.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“It’s just me and my Dad, actually. My Mom died when I was young and we helped each other through it. I guess I was brought up by the Sheriff’s department – sometimes my Dad would have to take me to the station and the deputies sort of adopted me as their mascot.” Stiles laughed at some memories. “Didn’t stop them arresting me or giving me tickets when I got up to stuff, and Jackson and I did all sorts of stupid shit when we were younger.”

“I can imagine.”

“I lost a friend – he was mauled to death in the local Preserve when he got lost. His name was Scott – kept me out of there if nothing else. My Dad said it was never solved – one of those mysteries I guess.” Peter had stiffened during Stiles’ story and he looked up at him, concerned. “Are you okay? It was years ago really – when I was in my early teens.”

“There was a period of time when my family wasn’t in the area – I suppose that must have been when it happened as I hadn’t heard about it before now.”

“Yeah, I don’t recall the Hales being around Beacon Hills. It’s hardly a beating metropolis!”

“No, but we tend to be quite insular and quiet. We attend events and sponsor quite a few charities, but we are actually quite reserved about publicity,” Peter said guardedly.

“Yeah, Jackson said it was a real coup getting the interview with you – I think he must have gone through his Dad.”

“Hmm,” Peter said, looking into his tea.

“Listen, Peter, I was wondering – “

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Peter said abruptly, putting down his cup and rising from the table. 

“What?” Stiles asked, completely confused.

“I’ll walk you out,” Peter said, throwing cash onto the table then holding out a hand that Stiles automatically took and got to his feet. Before he could recover his equilibrium, he found himself back out on the street, with Peter putting on his overcoat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to misread the signals – look – “ Stiles pressed his hand to Peter’s shoulder, flinching back from a piercing look. “Do you have a – a partner or something? Is that it?”

“I don’t do the partner thing,” Peter said, almost sneering.

“What the hell does that mean? Peter, what the hell – “ Someone brushed past them, knocking Stiles backwards and almost into the busy road. Peter’s sudden harsh grip on his shoulders was the only thing that stopped him falling, and he found himself face to face with the man, his breath rushing from his lungs at the look Peter was giving him. The blue eyes shone almost electric blue, a snarl on Peter’s face as he turned to give the person who had knocked Stiles a dark look.

He turned back to Stiles, his face becoming almost tender as he ran his eyes over him. He brought his hand up from Stiles’ shoulder, sliding over his neck slowly before cupping his chin and staring into his eyes.

“I’m not the right person for you, Stiles – you should find someone else, steer clear of me.” His voice was regretful, the touch of his hand on Stiles’ face completely contradicting his words. Stiles stumbled slightly, stepping back and for a moment, Peter’s grip tightened before he reluctantly let Stiles go. “I should let you go.”

Embarrassed, hurt and confused, Stiles shook his head before straightening his shoulders and meeting Peter’s gaze.

“I’m not sure what any of that means – but, okay, fine. I must have misunderstood – but, whatever. Goodbye Mr Hale.” Refusing to turn back and let Peter see how hurt he was feeling, Stiles walked away.

* * *


	4. I'll dig myself a little hole inside your precious heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: for attempted assault/unwelcome advances. NOT between Peter and Stiles.
> 
> * * *

”You do realise you’re making everyone completely and utterly miserable, don’t you?” Peter turned to see Talia coming towards where he was sat in the garden reading.

“I don’t see how – I’m merely enjoying spending some time with my family, relaxing in the garden. What’s so bad about that?”

“Peter – you made Cora cry with your comment about her hair; Theo has refused to come out to the house because he has photos he needs to show but is too scared; Laura has threatened to do something unmentionable to your designer suits and Derek – well, Derek seems to think you’re being a coward but I told him I wouldn’t ever tell you that.” Talia smiled as she took the seat next to him and Peter grudgingly put down the book. 

“I don’t think I’ve actually been that bad – and I will be having words with Derek,” he finally replied.

“Would it be so bad? To give in to this pull you seem to have for this person?”

“And drag someone into danger?”

“Your position is not always dangerous – in fact, I distinctly recall you complaining about how boring it’s been lately with such little in-fighting going on,” she taunted, placing her hand on his arm. “Despite what you may think of your biological parents, there is nothing that says you have to be like them.”

“But what if I am?”

“Then if this person is right for you, they will understand and they will help. There are stories out there – “

“Fairy tales to make those such as I feel more hopeful!”

“There is often truth in fairy tales.” With a sad smile, Talia placed a kiss on the side of his head, got up and walked away, leaving Peter to wonder whether Derek was right in his estimation.

* * *

Stiles considered the contents of the parcel he had received on completion of his exams. It was obvious they were from Peter – they were first editions of various mythical texts and fairy tales, the like of which Stiles’ professor had spoken of but they had not had access to. They must have cost an exorbitant amount of money and there was absolutely no way he would be able to keep them.

But they were beautiful. And thoughtful. 

“Stiles – let’s go!! The cab is here, finals are over and we are partying tonight! No more moping!” yelled Jackson, grabbing Stiles by the arm and tugging him towards the door. “ **You** are not allowed to think about Peter Hale tonight – tonight, we are out to get have fun! Yes?”

“Yes! Okay, fine – stop pulling at me! Although if it gets ruined, it’s your shirt!” Stiles allowed Jackson to tow him out of the apartment and down the stairs towards the waiting car. He felt a little ostentatious for him: Jackson had forced him into a tightly fitting, thin black shirt and skinny jeans that felt like they outlined every part of his lower body. Fortunately, he had been allowed to combine them with his Converse, although to get that concession, he had been forced to allow Jackson to gel his hair into a tousled mess that looked like he had just got out of bed. 

It was the type of look Jackson could pull off without even trying, but Stiles felt more than a little out of his comfort zone. He wasn’t used to dressing to _gain_ attention – he much preferred to sit back and people-watch. But not tonight – tonight he was going to do everything in his power to forget Peter Hale and his stupid blue eyes, faultless goatee, soft-looking lips and thick, muscular neck – fuck him!

Within an hour, Stiles and Jackson had consumed far more alcohol than was good for them and were grinding against each other on the dance-floor. Strangely, it wasn’t as though they were stuck with each other – Stiles had been frankly shocked at the response to his new look. Every time he turned around, someone was offering him a drink, or pressing up against him on the dance-floor and making it obvious that they would like to get to know him a **lot** better.

At present, twins were dancing with them – one of them was stuck to Jackson’s back like glue, his hand around his waist, and his lips sliding down Jackson’s neck. The one behind Stiles was persistent, pressing himself against Stiles’ back, trying to wrap his arms around Stiles and pull him closer, and verging on aggressive. 

Unwinding the restraining arm for the third time, Stiles turned and shouted in the twin’s face, “I have to pee!”

“What?”

“I have to pee!” Jackson looked over, checking in with Stiles as he often did. 

“You okay?”

“Yes, fine – I just need to pee! Keep dancing!” Jackson grinned and nodded and Stiles made his way to the bathrooms at the rear of the club. There was a queue outside the bathrooms and not allowing himself to think about it too much, Stiles took out his cell and dialled Peter’s number.

“Stiles?”

“Yep, this is me. I am Stiles. And I am sending back your extremely rare and expensive books. I may never be able to find my own copies and regret the decision for the rest of my natural born life, but I am not accepting them. So there.” Stiles paused, thinking there was something else he wanted to say. “Thanks though – it was a very nice thought and lovely to receive after the hell that was finals.”

“You’re welcome, Stiles. Although I wish you would keep them – I found them in our family library and thought of you.”

“You are such a bunch of mixed up messages! Like – “

“Where are you?”

“I’m waiting for whoever's in the bathroom fucking to get a move on because I need to pee,” Stiles replied, giggling slightly.

“Stiles – have you been drinking?” Peter sounded scandalised and Stiles found himself giggling all the more. 

“I have. Yes – I have been drinking copious amounts of alcohol bought for me by men who seem to know what they want and who don’t specis – specai – do the mixed messages thing!” He knew he was slurring his words and wondered just how much he had had to drink. His father would kill him if he could see the state he had allowed himself to get into, and he was relieved that at least he and Jackson always had each others’ backs on the rare occasions that they went out. 

“Stiles – “ Peter’s voice was a growl down the phone that made Stiles jump. “ – I want you to go home. Right now.”

“You’re not the boss of me, no matter how much you growl and roar!”

“Growl and – “

“You’re so bossy!” Stiles did a mocking impression of Peter’s voice, lowering his tone to try to reach the lower level. “Stiles – I want to know more about you; here, take my photo Stiles even though I never allow anyone to do that; show me how to get away with murder Stiles; let’s go for coffee – no, no, stay away from me! Come on, let me hold you close and stare into your eyes – no, get away from me!”

“For fuck’s – that’s it – where are you? What’s the name of the club?”

“What? I’m not telling you that! Besides, you’re far, far away back in whatever fancy place you left me for, surrounded by your nubile young lovers who put up with your gilded cage and your _I don’t do that partner thing_ shit that still doesn’t make sense to me!” Stiles noticed the guy next to him was listening in and he gave him a wobbly thumbs-up sign.

“What’s the name of the club, Stiles?” Peter’s voice was almost impossibly deeper and he sounded like he was getting mad, but Stiles didn’t care. He had no rights over what Stiles did – he had made it clear that he had no interest.

“I’m in a lovely little club called – hey, dude, what’s this place called again?”

The guy next to him said ‘Tainted’ and Stiles nodded his thanks. “I’m in a club called Tainted, which I would think is far beneath your status, although I’m not telling you the name because it’s none of your business! Because, Mr Fancy Pants, I am over you! This is like that episode of Friends where Ross gets that phone call from Rachel – “

“Drink some water and stay where you are!” Peter said down the phone.

“You don’t tell me what to do! I’m my own boy – man, whatever! So put that into your expensive tea and smoke it!” Pressing end call, he turned to look at his new friend. “That told him, right?”

“Expensive tea?”

“Don’t judge – it’s a whole complicated thing!” 

“Right, dude.” Suddenly feeling sick and not sure he could wait until the bathrooms became free, Stiles made his way through the club, staggering slightly at the entrance as the fresh, night air hit his system. He jumped when he felt arms behind him, turning to find the twin that had been dancing with him who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. 

“Hey!”

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry – I don’t remember your name,” Stiles said, stumbling a little way down the street.

“It’s Aiden. Here, you look cold – let me put my jacket around you,” he said, wrapping his arms around Stiles to put a heavy jacket onto his shoulders.

“Thanks – although it’s a bit hot, so – “ Stiles tried to shrug the jacket off but Aiden hadn’t removed his arms so he was effectively trapped. 

“You know, I’m not gay like Ethan – more equal opportunities if you know what I mean. And I have been wanting to kiss you all night.” He pulled Stiles closer and he began to realise that he had found himself in a situation. 

“Here, let me give you back your jacket,” he said, trying to pull himself free.

“Just one kiss, Stiles,” Aiden insisted.

“I don’t think – “

“Come on, Stiles – the way you were dancing with me – “

“That was just dancing – please let me go or I might have to hurt you,” Stiles said, trying to get into a good stance to get Aiden off of him. He might be drunk but that didn’t mean he was helpless. 

“A little thing like you? I don’t think so,” Aiden said, his eyes glowing a weird red colour in the light from the nightclub’s neon sign. 

“What the – dude, let me go!” Stiles said, shoving his elbows outwards and preparing to knee Aiden in the groin. Before he could follow through, Aiden was wrenched away from him and tossed into the wall, where he bounced off and landed on the ground.

“He said no!” Peter growled, standing over Aiden. He looked bigger than Stiles remember, his voice much deeper.”Not your territory, omega. I suggest you get your ass out of here before I hand it to you!” 

“Territory?” Peter turned to Stiles, pulling him close. “Oh shit, I think I’m gonna puke!” Stiles leaned over and puked in the gutter, groaning as Peter kept him stable and relatively upright. “Dude, don’t look at me!” 

From behind him, a handkerchief appeared and he used it to wipe his mouth, feeling absolutely disgusting but also still wobbly on his feet. 

“Nice hanky, dude, although a little old-fashioned. I will ensure that I launder this item to your satisfaction and return it to your abode,” he said, giggling slightly at the look on Peter’s face. “Sorry – just, who the hell carries a handkerchief around with them?”

“I do, apparently. Come on, Stiles, let’s get you home,” Peter replied.

“I’m with Jackson,” Stiles protested, nevertheless accepting Peter’s overcoat as it was wrapped around him. 

“That’s okay – I’ll get Derek to let him know.”

“Who’s Derek?” Stiles wondered, then realised he had said it out loud when Peter responded.

“Derek’s my brother.”

“Oh right. Do I know him?”

“No, Stiles, you don’t know him. He’s inside now, talking to Jackson. I’ll get him to explain what’s going on.”

“Well I’m glad _someone’s_ getting an explanation then,” Stiles muttered as Peter guided him back into the club. “I thought we were going home?”

“We are – we need to grab the rest of your stuff and let Derek know we’re leaving.”

“Oh, right – good point.” Walking past the doorman, a stray thought entered Stiles’ head. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I was still at the Heliotrope – or at least, I’d returned to the hotel. Derek came with me.” When they reached the dance-floor, Stiles could see that Jackson was now dancing with a well-built, dark-haired man, the two entwined like they’d known each other forever. “That would be Derek,” said Peter, his voice rueful.

“That’s your brother?” Peter nodded and Stiles took a moment to take in the picture the two men presented. He could well understand the looks they were receiving from their fellow dancers – if they had been horizontal, they would have been full-on fucking already. “He’s – pretty.”

“You think Derek’s pretty?”

“He looks pretty with Jackson – they make a good looking pair,” Stiles replied, licking his lips as he continued staring at them. Rightly or wrongly, it was quite an arousing sight. He waited obediently whilst Peter walked over to them and spoke to his brother and Jackson, grabbing Stiles’ jacket from the pile on the side of the dance-floor before returning to him. 

“Let’s go,” he said, putting his arm around Stiles’ shoulder and turning him back towards the entrance.

“Wait, what did Jackson say?”

“He warned me to be on my best behaviour – once he’d asked me if Derek was, indeed, single.” Peter tilted his head and gave a strange smile. “Actually, he threatened me – it was quite refreshing.”

“He _threatened_ you?” Stiles asked, stumbling to keep up with Peter’s pace, his head spinning slightly.

“He did indeed. Stiles – are you okay? You’ve gone quite grey!” Peter said and Stiles struggled to look at him, his head whirling unpleasantly.

“How can you tell what colour I am with these lights? And did you know, sometimes your eyes flash a rather beautiful shade of blue?” Before Peter could respond, Stiles surrendered to the overwhelming urge to pass out.

* * *


	5. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Especially for Devilscut xx
> 
> * * *

”Jesus, fuck, someone kill me now!” Stiles rolled over carefully in the bed, his head banging. Opening his eyes, he realised that he wasn’t in his own bed – in fact, he wasn’t at home. He lifted the covers, confirming that he was naked beneath them, then turned to the side to see that there were some pills and a glass of orange juice on the bedside table. There were two notes next to them in beautiful handwriting. One said ‘eat me’ and the other said ‘drink me’. Of course the bastard had beautiful handwriting.

Sitting up gingerly and gathering the covers in his lap, he looked around the room but realised that Peter wasn’t there. Relieved to have a moment to get himself together, he grabbed the juice and took the pills, sighing as the cool liquid eased his parched throat. As he was finishing the juice, the door opened and Peter walked in. It was the most relaxed he had ever seen Peter look, wearing a tight white tee-shirt and sweatpants, obviously having been for a run. 

“Good morning, Stiles. How are you feeling?” Blushing to the roots of his hair, Stiles responded in a croaky voice.

“Better than I have the right to feel, to be honest.”

“Hmm,” was Peter’s only response as he came to stand at the bottom of the bed, staring at Stiles. 

“Did you put me to bed?”

“I did.”

“You undressed me?” For some reason, the thought of Peter manhandling his naked body made Stiles blush even harder, glad that the mound of covers hid his body’s response. 

“I didn’t actually have much choice – you were completely out of it.”

“Should I ask where you slept?”

“Right there. You were snoring so charmingly, how could I resist?”

“Oh shit – we didn’t – I mean, you didn’t – “

“Oh my God, no! When I get you into my bed, you will be fully awake and fully consenting,” Peter replied, smirking at Stiles.

“When, huh?” Peter tilted his head at Stiles’ muttered comment. 

“Besides, necrophilia isn’t my thing – you were dead to the world.”

“So – we just slept then?” Stiles wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or not, which confused him even more.

“Believe me, it was a novelty for me. Quite interesting having someone starfish all over the bed and try to use me as a teddy bear with no sexual intent whatsoever – it was – _enlightening_ ,” Peter said. He turned and went to the table next to the door, bringing back a tray of food. “You need to eat.”

“You’re always shoving food at me,” Stiles replied even as he took a bite of toast. 

“I had Isaac pick you up some clothes.” Stiles frowned in confusion even as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Who’s Isaac?”

“My driver.”

“Uh huh. The dark blond with the curly hair?”

“Ah, you noticed him, did you?”

“I just wondered when I saw him open your car door for you when you visited the store,” Stiles protested. “Anyway, you didn’t need to do that. Just – let me have my clothes back and I’ll do the walk of shame.”

“Your clothes were unfortunately covered in vomit – they’re with housekeeping at present. I will, of course, return them to you once they’ve been cleaned.” Stiles lowered his head into his hands, memory returning and adding to his embarrassment. 

“God, I am so sorry you had to see me like that – I mean, thank you but – “

“You shouldn’t get drunk like that. I’m all for testing limits, Stiles – more than – but you put yourself at risk last night. That boy – “

“Aiden? Ethan?”

“Yes, him. You put yourself into a dangerous situation.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Normally, I would agree that you would have been able to handle most people but – “

“My Dad made sure I took self defence classes along with his deputies and – “

“But Aiden might have surprised you, and then where would you have been?”

“Fine, yes, I get it. I was irresponsible. It was the end of finals and Jackson and I wanted to celebrate. Normally we don’t let things get that far but I’ve – I’ve been in a little bit of a funk and he wanted me to chill and enjoy myself a bit.” They shared a glance and Stiles knew that Peter knew he was the one responsible for Stiles’ funk. 

Nodding, Peter stripped the tee-shirt over his head and Stiles barely managed to hold back a gasp. The man was extremely well put together, a smattering of chest hair enhancing the muscles now on display. 

“If you were properly mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after a stunt like that,” Peter said, seeming to be unaware of Stiles’ response to his naked chest. 

“Excuse me?” It took Stiles a moment to realise what Peter had said, and he could barely believe that the man had come out with such a statement. Ignoring Stiles’ question, Peter came and sat on the edge of the bed, guiding Stiles’ hand until he could take a bite of his toast. It felt intimate in a way Stiles had never experienced and he sat open-mouthed, unable to think clearly.

“I need to take a shower,” Peter said, releasing Stiles’ hand and getting up.

“Peter?” The man paused in the bathroom doorway and Stiles turned to look at him. 

“Why am I here?”

“Because apparently I’m incapable of denying my biology and leaving you alone.”

“What does that even _mean_?” Stiles asked, frustrated. “Besides, I didn’t ask you to leave me alone. If you didn’t want anything to do with me, why send the books? You don’t make a lot of sense.”

“I sent you the books because I felt that I owed you an apology.”

“For what, exactly? For letting you believe that I – Jesus, listen to me.” Peter returned from the bathroom, taking a seat next to Stiles once again. 

“Stiles – I don’t _do_ romance. My preferences are – singular and can be quite specific. There are things about me – “

“Is this to do with the cable ties?” Stiles interjected and Peter finally looked him in the eye.

“Partly. And partially to do with who I am, as a person.”

“Like what? Maybe if you talked to me – “

“It’s not something easily shared. And please believe me, it’s not that I don’t wish to share it with you. It’s just – your response doesn’t affect just me.” Peter did look regretful and Stiles reached for him. Peter caught his hands and held them down onto the bed, looking earnestly into Stiles’ face. “I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself if you touch me, Stiles – to my shame.”

“Why are you ashamed of wanting me?”

“I’m not ashamed of that – I’m – concerned about what I want to do to you, whether you would accept it, understand it – enjoy it.”

“Now you’re just scaring me.”

“I’m sorry – that truly wasn’t my intention. I am making a mess of this – this is so incredibly unlike me.” Peter leaned forward, bringing their lips so close together that Stiles could almost taste him. “I think, perhaps, that the safest thing is to get you home.” He pressed Stiles’ hands to the bed, got up and went into the bathroom, leaving Stiles wondering what the hell he had got himself into.

* * *

Stiles came out of the bathroom dressed in the clothes that Isaac had purchased for him, feeling slightly self conscious. The tee-shirt was tighter than those he normally wore, although at least the jeans were not as tight as the ones Jackson had insisted he wear the night before. 

“You look rather delicious,” Peter said from across the room. “Although it is slightly chilly outside – here, this should keep you warm.” Stile recognised the sweater from when Peter had worn it before, and pulling it over his head he caught the scent of Peter’s aftershave. It was warm and comfortable and he tugged it down over the tee-shirt, fingers gripping the cuffs. “Seeing you in my clothes is – satisfying,” Peter said before turning to grab his wallet and keys.

“Your Isaac has good taste in clothes, but your jumper is probably one of the most comfortable things I’ve ever worn.” Peter glanced at him over his shoulder, his eyes glinting oddly in the light from the window, before he took a deep breath and headed towards the hotel room door.

“What are you doing later?” Peter asked as they made their way to the elevator.

“I’ve got a shift at the store that finishes at seven,” Stiles replied.

“I’ll have Isaac pick you up then,” Peter stated and even though he wanted to bristle at the fact that Peter hadn’t asked him, Stiles was too happy knowing that he was going to see Peter again to complain. He bit his lip, and caught Peter’s gasp. “I would dearly like to bite that lip.”

With a bravery he didn’t recognise in himself, Stiles replied, “I think I’d like that too.”

Peter took another deep breath, taking a step away from Stiles. “I’m not going to touch you, Stiles – not until I’ve got your written consent.”

“Written consent?”

“I’ll explain – later.” The elevator arrived and they walked into it together, Peter pressing the button to take them down to the lobby. Confused, Stiles bit his lip again then found himself pushed back against the rear of the elevator, Peter’s body pressed against his. “Fuck the paperwork!”

Peter took his mouth in a blistering kiss, grabbing both of his wrists and pushing them up until they were pressed against the wall. Stiles writhed against the weight of Peter’s body, opening his mouth to Peter’s onslaught and surrendering completely to him. He felt like he was on fire, desperate need overtaking his senses as he wrapped one leg around Peter’s waist and struggled against his grip on his wrists because he wanted to touch him, to hold him.

“God, I fucking want to eat you!” Peter exclaimed, sliding his mouth down Stiles’ neck and biting at the tendons there. Stiles cried out, and Peter finally released his wrists to grab his ass, pulling him upwards. Trusting that Peter would hold him, Stiles did a small jump so that he could wrap both of his legs around Peter’s waist, crying out again when it pressed their groins tightly together. His hands were in Peter’s hair, gripping it helplessly as his head thunked on the wall, giving Peter free access to his neck and upper chest. 

“Oh fuck, Peter, please – “

* * *


	6. A different kind of playing....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New banner by the incredibly talented Winterlynne_Norvic - thank you sweetheart xx
> 
> * * *

[ ](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/cVRU_YxYRXVcxfPKeKsh1Mu1h4oZZK2U06jG3OzruioC9PDEgMXuxlpqI2tm-odAoyqQKqTOVdvRhbj3uZH5t03Yhv9zjU3dHC5DKxnGTlplQv6foeaWdICps4ZruIYdaiwRvckOybY=w2400?source=screenshot.guru)

The slight judder of the elevator coming to a stop barely registered, but Peter heard the doors opening in time to step away from Stiles just as a group of businessmen stepped in. A glance showed that Stiles was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, his eyes slightly glazed. It was reassuring at least to know that he wasn’t the only one affected.

One of the men turned and looked at Peter, his gaze curious, and Peter allowed his eyes to bleed blue, a hint of fang showing. It was enough for the other man to gulp and rapidly turn forwards again, keeping his attention away from them.

Stiles and he completed the journey to the apartment where he lived with Jackson in silence. Peter ignored the smirk on Isaac’s face because he knew what the other man could sense: that Peter was on the edge of throwing Stiles onto the back seat of the limousine and fucking him. It was taking all of his control not to do it, the furtive looks Stiles was giving him doing little to assist him.

By the time they made it to the apartment, Peter had calmed down enough to at least present a calm image. As they walked into the apartment, Peter barely held back a curse when Derek and Jackson leapt to a sitting position on the couch, both of them obviously naked. 

Derek got up, carefully covering Jackson with a blanket that was over the back of the sofa before reaching for his jeans. He pulled them on, completely lacking self-consciousness of his nakedness. He turned and held out his hand to Stiles, pulling it back with a smirk when Peter growled under his breath.

“Hi – you must be Stiles. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jackson – and Peter.”

“You have? I mean, hey – nice to see you – I mean, meet you!” Stiles blushed furiously and turned to Jackson. “Dude, communal area!”

“I wasn’t expecting you back,” Jackson replied, wrapping the blanket around himself. 

“Derek – we must be going.”

“What’s Peter told you about me?” Stiles asked and Peter decided it was definitely time to end this. He didn’t want Derek revealing anything that he wasn’t ready for Stiles to know.

“Derek – find your shoes. Some of us have work to attend to.”

“I’ll tell you another time. What exactly you’re doing with Mr Warmth here, I’ll never know,” Derek teased, even as he found his shoes and put them on, along with a dark Henley. Stiles smiled, giving Peter a nervous look, and the two of them watched as Jackson and Derek shared a kiss goodbye that looked more like they intended to continue what had been interrupted. 

“Derek – “

“Okay, okay, I’m ready.” He turned back to Jackson, running his hand through his hair and down his neck. “Later, yes?” Jackson nodded, and Derek made his way to the front door, giving a final wave before leaving.

Relieved, Peter turned to Stiles. His hair was a rumpled mess, hickies and marks beginning to pink up on his neck from Peter’s attentions. So tempting to simply grab him and give in to his instincts. 

“I’ll see you tonight. Email me if anything changes,” he said, moving behind Stiles and opening the front door.

“Er – yeah, my computer’s broken,” Stiles admitted sheepishly.

“Then call me – we both know you have my number.” Stiles blushed at the reminder of the phone call the night before, nodding when Peter quirked his eyebrow.

“Yes, fine, I’ll call if anything changes.” Unable to resist, Peter lifted his hand to Stiles’ face and caressed his cheek, ending with his thumb pressed against the plump lower lip. “Jesus, the things I want to do to this mouth.”

Stiles gasped, his tongue darting out to lick at Peter’s thumb and testing his control even further. Knowing they had an audience, Peter resisted the need to slide his thumb into Stiles’ mouth, just to feel him suck the probing digit. That way led nowhere but the bedroom and Stiles wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“Later, yes?” he said huskily, finally moving his hand away and turning to the door as Stiles nodded. “Nice to see you again, Jackson.” From just outside the door, he heard Stiles exhale heavily, then say “Derek seems nice.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so Mister! What was _that_?” Jackson’s voice was heavy with curiosity but Peter couldn’t hear any jealousy.

“Oh man, I don’t even know!”

“So tell me everything – I want to hear it all!”

“There’s nothing to tell – we kissed. Once. That was it.”

“One kiss? Really? Going by your face, that must have been _some_ kiss!”

“You have no idea!.” Smiling to himself, Peter walked away to join Derek.

* * *

It was a long-ass day, but Stiles finally shrugged into his jacket and walked out of the store, seeing that Isaac was waiting for him.

“Hi – Isaac, right?” 

“Good evening, Mr Stilinski. Mr Hale will be joining us there,” the young man said, holding the car door open for Stiles.

“Thanks dude – I mean, Isaac.” The door shut behind him and he made himself comfortable in the back of the limousine. His nerves were jangling with excitement as he wondered what Peter had planned. He and Jackson had had little opportunity to catch up, but from the short time they had spent together, he got the feeling that whatever was going on between Jackson and Derek, it wasn’t his friend’s normal fleeting thing. He could only hope Derek wasn’t playing around.

It didn’t take long to get to the hotel, and Isaac led Stiles through the reception area, into the elevator (where Stiles blushed for the entire trip up to the roof), where Peter was stood, standing next to a helicopter.

“Holy shit!” 

“Good evening, Stiles,” Peter said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Come this way, please.” Stiles moved forward, remembering to say thanks to Isaac as he turned to walk away. Peter opened the helicopter door and Stiles climbed in, glancing back at Peter as he did so.

“Dude – are you for real?”

Peter continued to smile before closing the door securely and walking around the helicopter to climb into the pilot seat. 

“Are you _flying_ this?” Peter leaned over and strapped the seat belts around him.

“Well, its’ not going to fly itself.” Patting the seat belt once it was put together to his satisfaction, Peter looked up at Stiles. “No escaping now.”

Moving back into his seat, Peter flipped switches and did all of the pre-flight checks before speaking into the radio.

“November-2-4-4-9 this is Hotel-Alpha-Lima-3, ready to depart.” From the Control Centre, Stiles heard the reply.

“Hotel-Alpha-Lima-3, your flight plan to Beacon Hills is cleared.” Stiles turned to Peter in shock, grinning widely.

The flight was amazing and Stiles spent the entire time looking out of the window whilst Peter flew them with quiet efficiency over the city and beyond, until Stiles began to see land he recognised. Peter brought the helicopter to land on a helipad in the middle of the Preserve, setting it down with nary a bump before helping Stiles out of the complicated harness and out of the bird. 

The grounds were beautiful, the night sky incredibly clear as Stiles looked around while they walked to a single storey building hidden amongst the trees. 

“Is this yours?”

“This is mine, yes. The family home is nearby but I do like a little privacy,” Peter replied, opening the door and letting Stiles in. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes please – although after the other night, maybe I shouldn’t.”

“There’s no problem as long as certain things are taken in moderation,” Peter said, walking to a gleaming bar across the living space and beginning to prepare drinks.

“This is beautiful,” Stiles said, walking around the expanse of living room. Despite what he had initially thought, Peter’s home wasn’t bare and minimalistic – all of the furniture looked comfortable and welcoming, a wealth of cushions and pillows enticing Stiles to reach out and touch. The hardwood floors were covered with plush looking rugs, and there was a fire burning merrily in the fireplace. “You could fit mine and Jackson’s whole apartment in your living room.”

“I did tell you I liked my space,” replied Peter, handing over a glass and gesturing towards the couch. 

“Dude – you have a piano.”

“I do, yes.”

“Do you play or is it an affectation?”

“I play – occasionally,” Peter said, sipping from his glass and watching as Stiles continued walking around the space. 

“Of course you play,” Stiles replied. Stiles stopped at the table, noticing a single piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a non-disclosure agreement – it means – “

“I know what an NDA is – I just don’t understand – “

“I’m afraid my lawyer, Deaton, insists on it. For my – and my family’s safety.”

“I would never discuss anything about us with other people,” Stiles stated, feeling hurt by the implication. 

“Stiles – if I thought you were the type of person to talk about us – the things we might do together – you would never have been invited into my home.”

“Fine,” Stiles said, picking up the pen next to the paper and signing.

“You don’t want to read it?”

“If I ever _did_ decide to say something, nothing on that piece of paper would stop me,” he retorted, angered. 

“And now you’re pissed at me,” Peter sighed.

“I don’t know about pissed – just – I dunno. It makes me uncomfortable, I guess.” Stiles placed the glass on the table. “So now what?”

“Now,” Peter said, rising to his feet, “there’s something I need you to see – before we go any further.” Curious, Stiles took the proffered hand and followed Peter through the house to a cream coloured hallway of doorways. Peter stopped in front of one of the doors, taking a key out of his pocket and putting it into the lock. “I need you to know that my staff have fuelled the helicopter and I can have you back to your apartment within two hours.”

“Is this where you show me your collection of kills?”

“No – just – I wanted to you to know. If, after seeing this, you wish to leave, I will take you back home immediately.”

“You know you’re just making this worse, right? I mean, I think my mind can imagine so much worse things than are actually in that room. So – just – get to the big reveal.”

Peter hesitated, and Stiles groaned. “Look, what is it?”

“It’s – my playroom.”

“What, like your PlayStation and stuff? Are you a closet nerd? Come on, Peter – you’re not telling me all of this is because – “

“It really is important to me that you know you can leave at any time!”

“Jesus, just open the door already!”

“Very well.” Peter turned the handle and pushed in the door, lights coming on automatically. “After you.”

Stiles stepped inside, a gasp escaping him as he took in the contents of the room.

“Oh my God!”

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles stared around the room, his mouth open in shock, his brain frozen. It was filled with BDSM stuff – ropes, chains, whips, floggers. He could see the cable ties he had sold to Peter, along with some of the rope hanging on the wall. It was a lot for his brain to take in – what the hell did all of this mean? 

He turned to Peter, even as he found himself running his fingers down the fronds of a flogger. It was the softest suede, warm to the touch. 

“It’s called a flogger,” Peter said, watching him carefully. Stiles nodded, letting the strands run through his fingers and fall back against the wall. “Say something – please.”

“I’m not quite sure to say – I mean, do – do you do this to people, or do they do it to you?”

“I like to use it on the people I’m involved with,” Peter replied, his voice even. “Only to the people who want me to – it’s strictly consensual.”

“So, you’re – what? A sadist?” Peter’s mouth twisted in distaste at the word.

“No. I’m what would be known as a dominant.”

“I know the term but I gotta be honest with you, I don’t know quite what that means.”

“It means I gain pleasure from being in control of others – in control of my lovers.”

“What sort of control? Like – beating them – with these things?”

“The term beating them sounds – punitive. I use these items, yes. But as I said – it is purely consensual.”

“And you want to do this – to me? I mean – you want to use these things on me?”

“Yes.” A simple acknowledgement. “I want you to surrender yourself to me, let me control you – how you feel, how you move, what you experience.”

“And what would I get out of it?” Stiles turned and looked at Peter, his hand resting on yet another flogger. “I mean, it sounds like you get your kicks from hurting people so – “

“No – not like that at all. It’s about pleasure – in the main. Unless you did something that was against the rules – then I would punish you. But even then – there can be great pleasure in pain, Stiles.”

“So surrendering to you – why?”

“To please me.”

“How would that please you? I – this is all so much to take in,” he admitted.

“Put very simply, I have rules. If you follow them, I reward you. Handsomely. If you don’t – I punish you.”

“Reward me? If this is about money – ”

“No – this isn’t about money.” Peter ran his hands through his hair, obviously trying to find a way to explain. “Reward you with pleasure the like of which you have never experienced. I can make you fly, Stiles – if you let me.”

Shaking his head, Stiles walked out of the room, waiting as Peter relocked the door and turned to him. 

“Come this way.” He led Stiles further along the corridor, stopping at another door and pushing it open. It was a beautifully plush bedroom, a large bed dominating the area. But it looked – sterile, un-lived in. “If we were to do this – this would be your bedroom.”

“You want me to move in?” Stiles recoiled at the idea – they had barely met and Peter was making such a proposition.

“Not all the time – from Friday through to Sunday, you would stay here with me. And this would be your private space – I wouldn’t invade it. You could decorate it however you like, make it more yours. We would negotiate the particulars.”

“So – would I sleep in here – with you?”

“No, I don’t – I’m not particularly comfortable sleeping with anyone. I occasionally have night terrors and prefer to handle those alone,” Peter replied, guiding Stiles out of the room and closing it once more. They headed back down the corridor and to the living room where Stiles took a seat on the sofa. 

“What if I didn’t want anything to do with all of that – what would that mean?”

“I would understand completely – it’s not for everyone.”

“But – what would it mean for our relationship?” Stiles insisted.

“This – what I’ve shown you – that’s the only sort of relationship I have,” Peter stated.

“But – why?”

“There are so many reasons but mainly – it’s just the way I am. There are still things about me that I can’t tell you – despite the NDA. I wanted to put this out there first – see if it was too much for you.”

Stiles nodded, trying to understand but the whole idea was completely out of the realm of knowledge. He was dying to do some research of his own, see what that world consisted of, what Peter meant by making him fly. But first, he still had questions.

“When you said negotiate – what did you mean by that?” Peter sat down next to him, seeming to be more relaxed now that they were away from that room.

“I already have a contract prepared. It’s fairly standard but quite detailed. We would go through it, review the contents and move on from there. You would be able to say what you would and wouldn’t do, what you were willing to try.”

“How would I know what I’m willing to try? This is all so completely new,” Stiles replied.

“Well, when you’ve had sex in the past, was there anything in particular you liked? Anything you disliked? Some people prefer not to indulge in anal, others – “

“How the hell would I know any of that?” Stiles said, blushing furiously.

“Stiles – in order for this to work, we would have to be completely open and honest with each other sexually.”

“I – look, I just wouldn’t have a clue what I like or don’t like.” Peter turned to him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t – I mean, I’ve concentrated on my studies, and Beacon Hills doesn’t really have a thriving gay community even though it’s accepting.” Stiles shrugged. “Jackson and I go dancing, but I don’t like the thought of just hooking up with _anyone_ so – “

“Are you telling me that you’re a _virgin_? Holy crap – “

“Well you don’t have to say it like that! Its not like I’m a unicorn or anything – there are virgins out there at my age and there’s nothing wrong with that – “ Stiles protested, bristling at what he perceived to be Peter’s attitude.

“You’ve done other things though – like – “

“No! I told you – I’ve never really been interested in hooking up with random people. And believe it or not, I wasn’t exactly considered a catch in high school!”

“But I just showed you – “

“Yeah, well – I may be a virgin but I have access to the internet. Not **all** of it was a shock!” Stiles retorted. Peter shifted closer to him on the sofa, his hand reaching out and cupping Stiles’ face.

“Where have you been?”

“I guess maybe I’ve been waiting for the right person,” he said quietly, tilting his head into Peter’s hand and closing his eyes.

“I don’t understand just how I got to be so lucky – but I’m not going to turn this gift away. Come with me, Stiles.”

“Where are we going?”

“If you’re willing, I’m going to take you to bed and show you what you’ve been missing out on,” Peter replied, holding out his hand. Stiles took it, getting to his feet even as he protested slightly.

“I’m not ready for – “

“No – you’re not ready for that room. Not yet. But I can show you what it can be like – if you want,” Peter said, his eyes glinting bright blue in the firelight. His grip on Stiles’ hand was possessive, pulling him closer. Stiles only realised he was biting his lip when Peter’s gaze dropped to his mouth, his hand tightening.

“The things you make me want to do to you when I see you biting your lip,” he muttered.

“So – do them.” With a feral looking smile, Peter tugged Stiles out of the room and headed towards his bedroom.

* * *

Tamping down on the part of himself that wanted to haul Stiles over his shoulder, Peter led him to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Stiles moved towards the bed, still biting his lip, looking unsure. 

How he had remained a virgin for this long was a mystery to Peter, but he fully intended on taking full advantage. He wanted Stiles to be addicted to him, to be willing to anything and everything Peter wanted.

Stripping off his jacket and his shirt, he stalked up to Stiles and stood behind, resting his hands on his shoulders.

“Any time you want this to stop, just say – or if there’s anything I do you don’t like. Okay?” Stiles turned and nodded, lips still between his teeth, eyes flickering around the room nervously. Peter grasped the collar of Stiles’ jacket, sliding it carefully off of his shoulders and down his arms until it puddled onto the ground. “Take off your shirt,” he said, his voice sounding husky to his ears.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and pulled the hem of the tee-shirt up and over his head, allowing it to fall to the ground. Peter leaned forward, taking a deep breath at the crook of Stiles’ neck, before letting his hand slide down his back, tracing the path of the scattered moles. 

“You are so beautiful,” he muttered, pleased when Stiles leaned back slightly at his words. He let his hands slide around Stiles’ body, stroking his chest and moving down to the taut flatness of his stomach. He tangled his fingers in the trail of hair leading to the button and fly of his pants, teasing him with gentle movements that had Stiles moaning slightly. “I find that more than anything, I would like to kiss you.” 

Stiles span in his arms, hands coming up to cup Peter’s cheeks, eyes deeply into his. 

“Why do I feel like you could destroy me with very little effort?” Stiles said and Peter smiled.

“Why was I thinking exactly the same thing?” Stiles leaned forward and Peter met him halfway, claiming his lips in a blistering kiss.

* * *


	8. First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Um, if you're not into explicit sex, might be an idea to skip this chapter!
> 
> * * *

[ ](https://imgur.com/APkhjfu)

“Wait, wait, wait!” Stiles gasped, the sting and burn so intense that his eyes were watering.

“Ssh, sweetheart, just – bear down – that’s it – the pain will ease!” He followed Peter’s instructions, bearing down until the pressure eased and a sense of fullness began to overtake the pain. “That’s a good boy – such a good boy, Stiles!” 

Arms wrapped tightly around Peter’s shoulders, Stiles panted for breath. The tight grip on his hips, the unrelenting pressure inside, the weight of Peter on top of him – all of it was alien and unreal to him, yet his body seemed to know what it was doing. The pain lessened even more, and he looked down to see faint black lines pulsing along Peter’s arms. 

“What – “

“Don’t think about that now – is it better?” Peter’s voice was strained, a testament to how much he was holding back as he held himself above Stiles.

“Yeah, yeah – just easy!” His voice went up a tone as Peter’s hips moved again, the heaviness inside him sliding across the same bundle of nerves that Peter had used to light him up from the inside earlier. Another half thrust, another jolt of lightning behind his tightly closed eyes, and now his fingers were gripping Peter’s shoulders in need as his body relaxed and the pleasure flooded through him once again. 

“That’s my good boy,” Peter said again, his body rippling on top of Stiles so that he was gliding in and out of him in shallow motions, teasing the sensitive nerves at the entrance of his body, carving a place for himself. “Christ, Stiles, you feel so good!” 

“Oh please!” Stiles didn’t know what he was asking for, only knowing that this fire building inside him needed Peter to either extinguish it or send it out of control. Hands sweeping up and down his sides, thrusts becoming deeper and harder and Stiles could do nothing but hold on as Peter drove him out of his mind. 

The blood rushed to his face when Peter rolled them so that he was on top, encouraging him into a seated position. It made the feeling inside deeper, more intense, but looking down at Peter’s face, the harsh satisfaction on it as he stared up at Stiles made it easier to not be embarrassed. 

“You are so beautiful,” Peter muttered, his hands moving to Stiles' hips to encourage him to move. For a few moments, he felt clumsy in the new position, not sure how to move his body, lifting and dropping jerkily but then he leaned back slightly and there was that fabulous zing inside when Peter grazed against his prostate and suddenly he was chasing that feeling, rolling his hips as Peter guided him from below. He leaned forward, pressing Peter’s shoulders down onto the bed as he rode him from above, teeth biting into his lip as he chased that elusive feeling. “Fuck, you are a natural at this!” 

Preening at the praise, Stiles experimented, twisting his hips from side to side, rising and dropping more rapidly as he became more and more accustomed to the fullness inside, to the sensations ricocheting around his body. 

“That’s it, baby, take what you want – use me up!” Peter’s face was twisted with desire, his eyes flaring brightly in the darkness of the room. Sharp pain at his hips and Stiles looked down to see that for a moment it looked like Petr’s hands had transformed into claws before a hard thrust from below distracted him. 

Peter rolled them again, sliding out of Stiles’ body and slithering down the bed until his hot breath was caressing Stiles’ aching shaft.

“Yess!” he hissed as Peter enveloped him in a tight, wet embrace, and he thrust his hips upwards. Peter swallowed him down with no hesitation, tight suction driving him out of his mind as Peter used his mouth to drive him insane. One hand was pressed against the headboard, the other wrapped around strands of Peter’s hair, anchoring himself. He looked down, gasping at the look on Peter’s face. His eyes were slumberous and glowing, his lips shiny with spit as he laved the head of Stiles’ cock with his tongue, staring up at him the whole time. “Fuck, I’m gonna – “

“Not yet, Stiles – I want to feel you come on my cock!” Peter exclaimed, lifting off with one last lick and climbing back up the bed. Knowing what was coming this time, Stiles eagerly wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist, hissing and gasping when he felt fingers at his hole. Tracing around it, teasing his taint before gently squeezing his balls until he was losing his grip on reality.

“Please – please Peter – “ he begged with no shame, his head thrown back in bliss as Peter finally replaced his fingers with the head of his cock and with one long thrust, re-entered Stiles’ body. This time there was no resistance as Peter slammed into him, thrusting so hard that Stiles’ was pushed further and further up the bed with every motion. 

“Touch yourself – I want to see how you pleasure yourself while I fuck you!” Peter ordered, and Stiles fumbled to grab his cock, using Peter’s saliva as lube to smooth his way as he began to jerk himself off in rhythm with Peter’s motions. The smooth skin of Peter’s belly caressed his hand as he drove into Stiles, one hand coming to Stiles’ head and yanking it back by the hair until his neck was arched and he felt like his body was one long line of sensation. 

Peter was sucking and biting at his neck, breath huffing in Stiles’ ear, grip so tight that he knew there would be bruises – bruises that he would be honoured to wear. He tried to stave off his orgasm but Peter was relentless, pounding him into the bed, the sound of the headboard banging against the wall a loud counterpoint to their gasps and moans. 

Stiles could hear himself grunting along with each thrust, losing the ability to coordinate his movements and relieved when Peter’s hand took over, stripping his cock with tight motions until the world collapsed around him and he was unaware of anything but the orgasm sweeping through his body like a tsunami. He felt the splatter of his spend on his stomach and chest, heard the roar Peter gave in his ear, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

* * *

With a warm wet cloth, Peter cleaned Stiles off before tucking him beneath the sheets and returning to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, fighting to control himself.

He couldn’t believe that he had marked Stiles that way – the scratches on his hips, the teeth marks on his neck and chest. It had been way more than he had expected, the need to claim overpowering. He struggled with himself, watching the way his eyes flickered back and forth, knowing that he couldn’t risk joining Stiles in bed until he had himself under control. 

“The sun, the moon, the truth – the sun, the moon, the truth!” He ran through the mantra, over and over again, until his eyes settled down and he felt in control. Scowling, he knew the time was coming when he would have to tell Stiles the whole truth, something he didn’t relish. 

It was one thing to tell someone that you were a dominant – something else entirely to tell them that you were a werewolf and that was the least of it. Scowling, he turned off the bathroom lights and walked back into his bedroom. Stiles was sprawled across the bed, a pillow hugged tightly to his chest as he snuffled and snored lightly. 

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed someone into his bed. Normally, his bed-partners stayed in their own room and he joined them there before leaving them for the night. But there was something right about seeing Stiles here, in Peter’s most private, intimate space. 

Shaking his head at his internal imagining, he climbed into the bed, rearranging Stiles so that he was hugging Peter instead of the pillow.

“Peter – “ The voice was muffled by the fact that Stiles had squashed his face into Peter’s chest, husky with sleep. 

“Go to sleep sweetheart.” God, he was so fucked.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I was writing this on a Sunday morning with my youngest daughter popping in and out!! *blushing furiously*
> 
> * * *


	9. Entangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More beautiful art from Winterlynne_Norvic
> 
> * * *

[ ](https://imgur.com/cCBNUxq)

Stiles woke to the sound of piano music coming from somewhere, groaning as he rolled over in the bed. He reached out for Peter then realised that he wasn’t there, which made sense if he was hearing music. He sat up in the bed, moaning slightly at the unaccustomed ache in his body. The entire experience had been mind-blowing, Peter seeming to know exactly what to do to Stiles’ body, sensing when something was becoming too much, pushing him to heights he had previously never imagined. 

Searching on the bedroom floor, he found his boxer shorts and pulled them on, opening the bedroom door carefully and peeking out. He walked down the hallway, enjoying the feel of the underfloor heating on his feet as he made his way back to the huge living area. As expected, Peter was sat at the piano, eyes closed as he played a tune that Stiles didn’t recognise. He took a moment to just look at him, appreciating the broadness of his shoulders, the smooth skin stretched over muscles as they moved. His head was bent, his neck looking bare and vulnerable in the light streaming through the window.

He walked over, slightly disappointed when Peter stopped playing. Peter turned on the stool and watched Stiles approach, his gaze flitting all over Stiles’ body. He would have felt self-conscious if it wasn’t for the blatant appreciation in the look he was being given, Peter looking almost feral. He hesitated for a step but then Peter smiled and he found himself moving forwards faster until he walked into his open arms. 

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, his voice. Stiles nodded, slightly embarrassed by the question but appreciating the concern. 

“Yeah – just a little sore. A good sore,” he added, lowering his head so that they could share a kiss. He lost himself in Peter’s kiss, straddling his legs and lowering himself onto his lap. “Is it always like this?” he asked.

“No – by no means, and never in my experience,” Peter replied, hands roaming over Stiles’ back.

“Then I guess we should make the most of it,” he said, sliding his hands into the hair at the base of Peter’s neck and stroking gently. 

“I heartily approve of your suggestion, sweetheart,” said Peter, getting to his feet as if Stiles weighed nothing. 

“Oh my God!” 

“Let me show you just a little more,” Peter muttered, walking with Stiles in his arms back in the direction of the bedroom.

* * *

Peter blinked awake, surprised by how deeply he had slept. The light streaming in through the window was a surprise – his bedroom didn’t receive the same glare first thing in the morning. He looked to his side and realised Stiles was no longer there. Frowning, he climbed out of the bed, relaxing when he saw Stiles clothes were folded neatly onto a chair. He was still here then.

Pulling on his robe, he made his way through the house, listening to the sounds so he could figure out where Stiles was. He found him in the kitchen, singing under his breath as he cooked something.

“Well, good morning. This is not how I was expecting to awaken,” he said, pleased when Stiles jumped and turned towards him. A delightful blush covered his chest and face as he faced Peter, a spatula in his hand. 

“I was making breakfast. I hope that’s okay,” Stiles said shyly.

“Oh more than, sweetheart,” Peter replied, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and watching the younger man. Stiles was wearing just his boxer shorts again, the skin of his neck and shoulders clearly showing Peter’s marks from the previous night. It gave Peter great pleasure to see them, settled something inside, and he simply watched as Stiles efficiently cooked them pancakes and bacon. “I’m surprised you found all of this in my cupboards.”

“You’re pretty well stocked – better than Jackson and I, let’s just say!” They sat beside each other as they ate in companionable silence. Having finished eating, Peter turned to see that Stiles had spilled a little syrup on his hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Peter said, taking Stiles’ hand and sucking the syrup from his hand. Stiles’ eyes dilated as Peter sucked his thumb into his mouth, his sharp intake of breath loud in the silence of the kitchen. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles replied, his voice low and husky. “The dishes – “

“My housekeeper will deal with them. Come with me.” Holding onto Stiles’ hand, he pulled him along to the bathroom, running a hot bath and adding some lightly scented bubble bath. Stiles stood obediently still as Peter stripped the boxer shorts down, deliberately ignoring the hard thrust of his erection as he rose to his feet again. “After you sweetheart,” he said, smiling at the lust-filled look on Stiles’ face. Despite what Stiles was obviously expecting, Peter climbed into the bath-tub behind him and merely washed him, carefully soaping every part of his body and rinsing it clean. Every now and then, he pulled some of the minor pain away, making sure that Stiles couldn’t see the faintly black lines as they snaked up his hands. 

Once he had cleaned Stiles all over, he pulled him out of the tub and swamped him in a towel before leading him to the bedroom. They stood in front of the bed and Peter gave Stiles a gentle kiss, deepening it slowly until they were both breathing hard. Palm to Stiles’ chest, he pushed until he sat down onto the bed, watching Peter with wide eyes.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, and Stiles nodded. Peter walked to his closet, opened one of the drawers and pulled out a random tie before returning to the waiting man. “Hold out your wrists,” he commanded, pleased when Stiles did so without question. 

He carefully knotted the tie around Stiles’ wrists, checking to be sure that it wasn’t cutting off his circulation, aware of Stiles’ silent anticipation. Once his wrists were securely tied, he pushed Stiles again until he was lying down on the bed, Peter climbing on top of him as he pushed Stiles’ arms above his head. He held back a growl at seeing Stiles stretched out beneath him, the paleness of his skin against the dark coverlet, the smooth arch of his neck as he lay back watching Peter through hooded eyes. 

“Hold them there – do you understand?” Stiles smiled but didn’t speak and Peter put more authority into his voice. “Do you understand?”

“Don’t move them,” Stiles replied.

“Good boy.” Peter pressed a kiss against Stiles’ neck, before moving down to his chest, frowning when he felt Stiles’ hands coming to rest on his head. With firm hands, he moved them back above his head, pressing them into the bed slightly. “I said don’t move them.”

“Yes Peter.”

“Stay still.” He gave Stiles a stern look, pleased when the small smile dropped from his face and he nodded more seriously, his body shifting beneath Peter’s as it registered the predator it faced instinctively.

He moved down Stiles’ body, pressing kisses and nibbling bites along the way, marking up the pale skin once again with firm presses of his fingers and hands whilst Stiles struggled to stay still.

“Say yes,” he muttered into the soft skin of Stiles’ belly, relishing the trust inherent in the position.

“To what?” Stiles asked, twisting and writhing slightly as Peter took his cock in his hand and gave it a few, lazy strokes. 

“To being mine,” Peter replied, lowering his head and taking the head of Stiles’ cock in his mouth. Stiles groaned aloud, hips thrusting upwards but prevented from moving far by the firm grip Peter had on them. 

“Jesus – “

“Peter?!” The sound of a female voice calling his name brought Peter’s head up and he turned to stare towards the bedroom door, completely disbelieving.

“Shit! That’s my sister!” Peter tilted his head, listening to the sound of voices.

“Isaac, there’s no need for you to show me in – “

“He’s still sleeping Alpha Hale,” said Isaac, having obviously turned up for work. Peter leapt to his feet, pulling his robe back on and heading to the bedroom door. 

“Really? But Peter _never_ sleeps in!”

“Er – “

“Hello Talia! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked as he walked into the living room where Isaac appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to keep his Alpha out. 

“Sorry Peter,” Isaac muttered and Peter waved his hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry about it – I know how she can be.” Isaac smiled and moved to stand unobtrusively at the side of the room. Peter walked over and hugged his sister, rubbing their cheeks together to share their scent. 

“How _she_ can be? Is that any way to talk to your alpha, Peter?” she teased, slapping him lightly on the chest. “The very least you could do is treat me with a little respect, brother mine!”

The door opened and Stiles walked into the room, joining them near the sofas cautiously. 

“Hi,” he said, smiling at Talia and Peter could hear Isaac giving a small snigger of laughter from his position by the side. 

“Oh dear!” Talia said, realising what she had interrupted. 

“Talia, Stiles Stilinski. Stiles, meet my sister, Dr Talia Carter-Hale.” He watched as Talia and Stiles shook hands, his sister taking in everything about Stiles. 

“You have _no_ idea how delighted I am to meet you,” Talia said.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dr Carter-Hale,” Stiles replied.

“Oh call me Talia, please! Peter’s just being a pretentious dick using my full name and title. The hyphenated name is because my husband took the Hale surname when we married.”

“Oh right,” Stiles replied, looking a little confused.

“You are a striking young man – very striking!”

“Er – thank you,” Stiles replied, giving Peter a look as Talia continued to hold onto his hand to spread her scent onto him. 

“What the hell happened to you calling before dropping by?” Peter asked, finally tugging Stiles slightly away so that Talia was forced to drop his hand.

“Oh pshaw!” Talia replied. “Like you would ever be here if I warned you beforehand? You know what **you** get like Peter! I was in the neighbourhood and wandered if you would like to have lunch.”

“I can’t today – I have to drop Stiles back home,” he replied regretfully just as Stiles’ cell rang. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Stiles, fumbling to get his cell phone out of his pants pocket. 

“It’s okay – you take it,” said Peter and Stiles smiled apologetically before walking across the room to take the call. Peter half listened as he heard Jackson’s voice before turning his attention back to Talia. 

“Stiles!” Talia called and Stiles spoke into the cell.

“Jackson – hold on a second!” He turned to face Talia, his smile more relaxed.

“It was absolutely lovely to meet you. And I’m having the whole pa – family for dinner next week at my house. Peter’s niece Laura is back from Paris and you simply must come!” 

“We’ll see, Talia,” Peter intoned, frowning at his sister as he led her towards the front door. 

“It was nice to meet you,” Stiles called out before returning to his call.

“You too!” Talia replied before turning and giving Peter a sly smile. “It’s good to know you listen to your big sister sometimes!”

“Shut up, you!” Peter replied, shoving his sister out of the door.

“He smells delicious Peter!”

“Do you have any idea how creepy you’re being?” Peter exclaimed, checking over his shoulder to be sure that Stiles was still on his call.

“Well he does! He smells almost as good as Riordan does!” she said, mentioning her husband. “I wonder why that is?”

“Bye Talia!” Peter said insistently, closing the door firmly on his sister before turning back to the room. “And you can shut up too!” he said to Isaac who was struggling to hide his grin. Peter sighed before pushing off the door, ready to talk to Stiles once his conversation was over.

* * *


	10. A little background...

Making his way to the bedroom Peter had shown him the night before, Stiles tried to concentrate on what Jackson was saying to him. 

“Um, Jacks – I really can’t talk right now!”

“Is he there with you?”

“Just – not now! I’ll call you back, okay!” Ending the call, he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around at the bedroom. The bed was still rumpled from their activities of the previous night, but other than that it was empty of any signs of ownership or occupancy. It made him feel cold and lonely just being there.

He looked up as Peter walked into the room, still in the robe he had grabbed when Talia had arrived. 

“Everything okay with the phone call?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, it was Jackson just checking you hadn’t chopped me into little pieces and baked me into a pie,” he replied, avoiding Peter’s eyes. “I liked your sister,” he said when Peter simply watched him.

“She’s excited – she’s never seen me with anyone before. You’re the first.” Peter seemed to be thinking hard about his statement while Stiles tried to take that in. “Stiles, what is it? If it’s anything Talia said – “

“No, no, it’s not that. I just – how many men, women have stayed in here?” Peter’s eyebrow quirked at the question but he answered.

“Fifteen all told.”

“Fifteen?!” Stiles gulped and looked around the room again, trying to see if there were any signs of the phantom occupiers.

“Yes. Although the bed is new, as is the bedding. And it was redecorated after each one.” Stiles winced, momentarily feeling for these strangers whose time spent there had been completely and utterly wiped out of existence as soon as they had left. It seemed – sad. 

“That’s a lot of people,” he finally said, aware that Peter was watching him carefully for his reaction. 

“I told you before, if you want out – if this is – “

“No, it’s not that I want out. I just – I guess I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the thought of being tied up and beaten in your weird playroom,” he blurted out, wincing as he realised how judgemental it sounded.

“I told you before, it’s not about being tied up and beaten – it’s more than that, and it would be purely consensual. Nothing would happen that you wouldn’t want – or ultimately enjoy. I promise you – that room is much more about pleasure.”

“I mean, would we still – like go out to the movies and have dinner and stuff like that? _Normal_ stuff, although that’s not like I’m saying that the things you like to do aren’t normal, just not something I know much about and obviously there are _lots_ of people who are into that kind of things and there’s nothing wrong with that at all – “ Stiles realised he was running out of breath and stopped speaking.

“I don’t really do the dinner and a movie thing – all that I’m asking of you, Stiles, is that you keep an open mind. Stop thinking of things as normal or not normal. Between consenting adults, there is no normal – simply pleasure.” Peter took a step closer, his voice lowering. “If you agree to be my submissive, I will be utterly devoted to you – I would belong to you as much as you belonged to me. The submissive is the one with all the power – the power to say no, to say what they will or won’t accept, to call a halt whenever they wish – “

“It just sounds – “

“That’s what I want – with you. That we belong to each other.” Stiles tried to look away from Peter’s intense gaze, eyes catching on the bare bedside table.

“Why do we have to sleep separately? You slept here with me last night – “

“I told you – I suffer from night terrors. Besides, if you agree to this you’re going to want your own room – space for you to relax, unwind, simply be yourself. Don’t get hung up on the sleeping arrangements, they’re not for you to be concerned with – “

“Why, because I’ll be your sex toy? Use your little toy-boy then put me away in my own little space then go back to the important things in your life,” Stiles snapped, unable to get the image out of his head of being left alone after being used and abused. It was a difficult image to shake off – when he had woken up alone last night, it had felt off, wrong and he couldn’t imagine that feeling would change. Peter’s expression closed off and he recoiled slightly.

“I don’t want to do this here. Or now. Let me get dressed and then we can sit down – “ Unreasonably angered by Peter’s seemingly casual attitude where he seemed to think he could talk Stiles around to his way of thinking, Stiles jumped to his feet.

“No, you know what? I think I’ll hold onto being a real boy and my freewill just a bit longer thanks ever so much. Last night was a blast – and kinda mind-blowing in a way I will probably be reliving for quite some time – but this whole being your toy on a shelf in your playroom thing isn’t going to work for me! I would actually like to go home – you know, to the real world where people go on dates and hold hands and don’t need bull-whips and cable ties!” He winced internally at how the end of his speech had sounded, especially when he felt Peter’s withdrawal.

“Very well. Let me get dressed and I will take you home. Would you like to wait in the living room – this room seems to be offensive to you in some way,” Peter said, his voice wintery cold. 

“Yeah, I’ll just – wait in the living room,” Stiles said, unaccountably missing the warm tones he was used to hearing from Peter. The man was so damned mercurial.

“After you,” Peter said, gesturing to the door, his robe falling open. Stiles stumbled slightly, seeing that despite their conversation – or maybe because of it – Peter was aroused. He managed to roll his tongue back up into his head and step out of the room, moving towards the living room whilst he heard Peter heading towards his bedroom.

He avoided the piano, his mind reminding him of how it had been last night, Peter lifting him effortlessly from the piano stool and taking him back to the bedroom. He sat on the sofa, only realising Isaac was stood by the front door when he glanced in that direction.

“Jesus! You guys are like ninjas – don’t you ever make any noise?!” 

“I can make noise,” Isaac said, smirking slightly and Stiles blushed. 

“I guess you’re used to this, huh? Driving Peter’s one night stands home?” he asked. Isaac looked at him, seeming to assess him somehow.

“No. This is most definitely not the norm. Peter doesn’t really do one night stands, and he doesn’t bring them home with him – not until they’re as close as he allows anyone.” Isaac paused, considering what to say. “You might want to think about the fact that he’s not acting like himself with you. For people like the Hales, they find that person and – well, things change. And to be completely honest, this is by far the most human I’ve seen Peter act.”

“People like the Hales?” 

“Yeah,” Isaac said, his face closing off and Stiles was left to assume he meant people as rich as the Hales were. He looked up as Peter strode into the room, taking in the black jeans and sweater the man was wearing, the closed-off expression on his face, and tried to see what Isaac was talking about. Was Peter acting differently with him? Was Stiles asking for too much?

“Isaac, I’ll be driving Stiles home. I’ll meet you back here – feel free to go back to the Manse and catch up with Cora if you like,” he said to Isaac, grabbing up a leather jacket and some keys. “Shall we?”

Stiles followed him as they walked silently around the side of the house into a large garage, filled with expensive cars. 

“Jesus, which one of these is yours?” he asked, admiring the sleek lines of the beautiful looking vehicles. 

“All of them,” Peter replied, leading Stiles to a jet black Ford Shelby Cobra and opening the door for him. Sliding into the leather seat, Stiles wriggled around, enjoying the way his body was almost being hugged by the seat, the luxurious smell of the interior and the expensive look of the dash as Peter walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s side. 

The roar of the engine was loud and they sped out of the garage, the smooth straight road out of the property letting Peter get to a high speed rapidly. Before long, the smoothness of the ride, the warmth of the interior and the quiet all began to lull Stiles to sleep and he found his eyes sliding closed. He jerked himself awake, sliding a glance at Peter to see him smiling in Stiles direction.

“Go to sleep, Stiles – you had an _active_ night. I’ll get you home safely, I promise,” Peter smirked at him and despite wanting to slap him for the innuendo in his tone, Stiles found himself slipping obediently into sleep.

* * *

Peter pulled over, turning off the engine of the car. Stiles was sleeping peacefully in the passenger side of the vehicle, sprawled as much as the seatbelt would allow, his face turned towards Peter. Leaning over, Peter pressed a gentle kiss to the soft pink mouth, watching as Stiles’ eyes fluttered open and he looked at Peter with a slumberous gaze.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Stiles turned and looked through the windscreen, seeing that Peter had brought them to a small wood, a short pier leading out onto a man-made lake. The Hale estate was massive and this was still part of their land but Stiles wouldn’t know that. 

They climbed out of the vehicle and Peter was pleased when Stiles allowed him to take his hand as they walked in companionable silence 

“How did you start doing this? I mean – it’s not like you start seeing someone and think _I know, let me use some cable ties on you_ – or is it?”

Peter laughed involuntarily, loving the open curiosity on Stiles’ face. 

“One of my mother’s friends – I was fifteen.”

“Jesus Christ!” Stiles was shocked.

“It was consensual – please don’t look like that.”

“She seduced you!” Stiles’ tone was accusatory and it was strange to hear someone getting so angry on his behalf. 

“I did say it was consensual. I was her submissive for six years,” Peter continued.

“Seriously? Does – did your mother know?”

“Hell no! My mother would never have understood – it was kept a secret from her until the day she died.” Leading Stiles to the short pier, he leaned down and picked up a few stones, sending them skipping across the water one by one. “None of my family know _that_ part of me – it is something I have kept to myself as it is none of their business.”

“So she introduced you to all of this? This Mrs Robinson? And how come it was a woman?” Peter laughed, imagining Kali’s face if she ever heard the nickname.

“Perhaps I’ll tell her that you called her that – she’ll get a kick out of it.”

“You still **talk** to her?”

“On occasion. Mainly about – family business. We’re friends. Stiles – I know how intimidating this is. I felt much the same at first.”

“I just can’t imagine you being tied up and – and _stuff_. What made you change your mind?” Peter appreciated the opportunity to explain things further to Stiles and the fact that the younger man was trying to have an open mind. It gave him hope.

“When Kali and I became – intimate – and she showed me this, it changed things inside me. I had some issues – anger management issues if you like – and I found that giving up control, putting myself into the hands of someone I trusted – I felt free. Free from the responsibility not to fuck things up with the family who had taken me in – free from making decisions about the safety of the people I loved. It was an immensely freeing experience and I cannot possibly explain to you how intensely satisfying it was. I felt – safe. Kali did a lot for me – we only stopped seeing each other in that capacity when she married Duke.” Peter turned to Stiles, taking his hand and looking into his eyes. “You will feel safe too – you’ll see. Stiles – I never took anyone in the helicopter. I’ve never had sex in my own bed – never slept with anyone. Ever. Only you.” Peter felt vulnerable, sharing all of those firsts with Stiles but he knew that if he wanted Stiles to take a chance on things, he needed to be honest and open.

He looked into the confused amber eyes, seeing the struggle Stiles was having trying to understand what Peter was saying to him. Realising that he needed to give him time to think, he pulled him into a gentle kiss, then took his hand and began to lead him back to the car. 

“Just – think about it.”

* * *


	11. A lot to think about...

Stiles let himself into the apartment, holding the envelope Peter had handed to him as he exited the car between his teeth. As he shrugged off his jacket, he saw that there was a strange man in the apartment who appeared to be setting up a laptop.

“Hello – do I know you?”

“Hi – your room-mate let me in,” the guy said.

“That’s – _nice_ ,” Stiles replied, moving further into the small apartment. “Jackson!”

“Okay, you’re all set!” the technician said just as Jackson appeared from his bedroom. 

“I just figured you forgot to tell me that you’ve somehow managed to afford a new laptop!” Jackson said. “Do I look okay?”

Stiles shoved his hands through his hair in confusion. “A new laptop?”

“Just sign here,” the technician said, holding out a piece of paper to Stiles. 

“Do you have the right apartment? I mean – gotta be honest dude, I can’t afford a second hand laptop let alone someone coming to set up a new one for me in my home!”

“Stiles Stilinski is the name I have here – I did check with your room-mate, sir,” the technician said, obviously getting a little nervous.

With a scowl, Stiles grabbed the piece of paper and began to read it. In the section detailing who had placed the order and was paying for the service, it said Peter Hale. Signing the form, Stiles handed it back to the technician who grabbed it and left quickly. He turned to face Jackson who was giving him an assessing look.

“Another gift, huh? What happened to hooking up at clubs in the bathroom and _maybe_ getting a roll of toilet tissue handed to you so you could clean up?” Stiles looked scandalised and Jackson laughed. “Okay, in your case, maybe flowers and chocolates? I mean – Stiles – what the hell is going on with you and Derek’s brother? Uncle? I still haven’t figured out their relationship!”

“Their relationship is the least of my worries!” sniped Stiles, taking in Jackson’s attire. He was dressed for the club – tight jeans, skintight mesh shirt, light jacket. “You look good – where are you going?”

“Yeah, nice change of subject there Stilinski! I want to hear **everything** , but right now I have to run because Derek and I are having dinner and then we’re going dancing.”

“So don’t expect you back anytime soon, then?”

“I hope not! The man has the stamina of a god-damned bull!” Jackson said. “Did the post come?” he said, gesturing to the envelope that was in Stiles' hand. 

Stiles dropped his hand to his side, suddenly unbearably conscious that the envelope contained the copy of the contract that Peter had requested he read through. “Oh, no – this is – these are just some of my thesis notes. I – um – I left them at school, just picked them up.”

“Oh right.” Jackson stared at him and Stiles began to feel more self-conscious.

“What?”

“You look – different.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Seems like something big happened – and I’m not talking about losing a social construct,” Jackson said.

“Yeah – maybe,” Stiles murmured, feeling like Jackson was seeing far too much. “What time are you meeting Derek?”

Jackson cursed and checked his watch. “Dammit! Seriously – you and me – sit down talk. I want to know what’s going on with you and Peter for him to be sending you such expensive gifts.”

“I think I told him my laptop had died recently – in passing, so I wasn’t expecting this.” Walking into the living area, Stiles threw himself onto the sofa. “Go! Have fun. Have uncomplicated man-sex with the Greek God that is Derek Hale!”

“Oh I will!” said Jackson, ruffling Stiles’ hair before heading out of the door. In the silence he left in his wake, Stiles tried to figure out how he felt about such an expensive present. It might not mean a lot to Peter, but it was something way out of Stiles’ comfort zone. 

He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the new laptop, taking it with him back to the sofa. It was top of the range, completely set up with everything he would need to search on the net, complete any remaining projects – everything. It was disconcerting how efficient Peter had been when as far as Stiles knew, he had spent all of his time with Stiles. 

As he was about to start playing around on the internet, his cell gave a beep and he looked to see that it was a message from Peter.

_Creeper Hale: “Thank you for a most interesting time. The laptop is yours – I would like it if you used it for research purposes.”_

“Oh really? So now you’re telling me what I should be doing on the internet! Well, I’m only gonna do some research because that’s what I would have done whether you told me to or not!” Stiles spoke out loud, scowling down at his cell as he typed a reply.

_Would you now? Is this a demonstration of what our relationship would be like? You order me around and me doing everything you want?_

_Creeper Hale: Oh I could only hope you’d do **everything** I would want! But yes – this is an example of how our relationship would be. Although hopefully there would be more pleasurable exchanges – similar to the time we just spent together._

There was a pause and then another message arrived. 

_Creeper Hale: And what’s more, I guarantee you would love it!_

Tossing his cell onto the couch next to him, Stiles dragged out the contract that Peter had given her which contained a list of explanations and terms for the dominant and the submissive. He could almost hear Peter in his head, reading out the terms of the agreement and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.   
As he read, one section jumped out at him, bringing his mind back to the room that Peter had shown him the night before.

> The submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the dominant, excepting those activities, outlined in hard limits.

How was Stiles meant to know what his hard limits were?

* * *

“I haven’t seen Stiles since that morning in your apartment,” Talia said, looking over her desk at Peter. He continued reading over the paperwork in his hand, refusing to meet her gaze. “I hope he does come to dinner – it would be lovely if he met the rest of the Pack.”

Putting down the paperwork with an exaggerated heavy sigh, Peter gave Talia his attention. “He’s not ready to meet the Pack – not as a Pack anyway.”

“But you do think he should meet the family?” she pushed.

“Maybe. He’s doing some thinking about things,” Peter hedged.

“What sort of things? If this has anything to do with your _thing_ with Kali all of those years – “

“Talia – you may be my alpha, but I really don’t think I wish to discuss my sexual proclivities with you,” Peter said firmly.

“You shouldn’t do it if you can’t say it,” she replied. “Besides – I think you used some of that stuff to handle your – issues. But Peter – it’s been so long since you had an episode – 

“Yes, and that’s because I keep a handle on it. Talia – I really don’t want to talk to you about this.”

“Okay, fine. But can you try and remember that that part of you has only ever come out when a member of our Pack has been in danger or threatened.” She tapped the desk between them, willing Peter to meet her gaze. “There is nothing wrong with being the Pack Protector, Peter. And the things you have done to protect the Pack – they make you _more_ special, not less.”

“Talia – “

“You don’t have ‘bad blood’ or whatever the hell Kali convinced you of!” she said angrily, remembering when she had walked in on her brother and Kali during one of their ‘sessions’. It had been eye-opening and scary, and she hated to think what Peter would do if he ever found out that she had warned Kali away from him. Although to be fair, he probably already knew – there was very little that passed Peter by.

“I don’t believe I have bad blood, but I do have – tendencies – that could be considered dangerous,” Peter said, familiar with her feelings about the subject. 

“I **really** hope Stiles can do something about that thick head of yours!” she muttered, giving up on convincing her brother once again. 

“If anyone could, I have the feeling it would be Stiles,” Peter replied softly and she had to accept the faint hope that her brother would allow himself some happiness in his life.

* * *

Stiles and Jackson were busy packing up their apartment for the move back to Beacon Hills. He was looking forward to being close to his Dad again – maybe that would help settle the sense of uneasiness he was feeling. He refused to consider that some of that feeling might be connected to Peter who he hadn’t seen in a few days. Thinking of him, Stiles put down his comic collection and grabbed his cell, sending Peter a message. 

_Busy packing for our move to Beacon Hills. Found myself thinking about that tie you almost got to use on me..._

He knew he was teasing and it might be a little unfair when he was still meant to be researching things and making up his mind, but he sent it anyway. Peter’s reply was succinct and to the point.

_Creeper Hale: Hurry up and read that contract!_

* * *


	12. Thanks for the memories

Stiles settled back on his bed, laptop resting beside him whilst he tried to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to ask.

_Okay, there is some scary shit out there! Gimme a good search rather than just a terrifying one, please!_

_CreeperHale: try submissive – please_

“Well, you get bonus points for the please at least!” Stiles said, putting the term into his search text box and adding the word contract for good measure. He heard laughter from outside his room and realised that Derek must be visiting Jackson and smiled. The two of them seemed to be getting along like a house on fire, with absolutely none of the complications Stiles was experiencing with Peter. Sighing, he began to scroll through the search results that had come back. He read through a few of the results, stalling on one that stated:

_The safe word yellow will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the submissive is close to his/her limit. When the safe word red is spoken the dominant’s actions will cease completely and immediately._

_The contract should cover areas such as the following: does the submissive agree to be restrained with hands bound in front? Does the submissive consent to being blindfolded? Does the submissive consent to being gagged? How much pain is the submissive willing to experience?_

Slamming the lid of his laptop shut, Stiles grabbed his cell. 

_It was nice knowing you – thanks for the one night of bliss but I think I’ll stick with vanilla thanks!_

Throwing his cell onto the bed, he jumped to his feet, feeling antsy. The sound of moans from the next room made him realise just what Derek and Jackson were up to, and not wanting to listen in and feel like a pervert – and also finding he was wishing it was him and Peter making those sounds – he grabbed his dirty laundry from the pile in the corner and headed down towards the basement where the washer and dryer were kept.

* * *

Peter had never taken dismissal well. To have Stiles attempt to end things with such a casual text sent his temper flaming, and disregarding his brain telling him that calming down might be a good idea before he saw Stiles again, he was in his car and driving to the new apartment. It wasn’t far from the Hale estate and parking was easy to find. He didn’t think much of the area but knew that both Stiles and Jackson were determined to manage on their own rather than relying on parental handouts, so modest was the way of the future. 

It was the work of a moment to get someone to let him into the building – they needed better security – before bounding up the stairs to the apartment. 

“Derek – let me in,” he said, loud enough for his brother to hear. He heard grumbling and complaining before the front door opened to Derek, who was wearing an unbuttoned pair of jeans and nothing else.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?”

“Got fed up of waiting for little Red to enter the forest voluntarily, huh?” Derek smirked at him before giving him a salute and jogging back to what Peter presumed was Jackson’s room. He stalked through the apartment, taking in the boxes that still needed to be unboxed. The living room smelt pleasantly of Stiles and Jackson, with the slight addition of Derek which helped settle him within his skin. He hated to think what he might have done if he had smelt anyone else. 

Letting himself into what he correctly surmised was the second bedroom, he allowed himself the luxury of enjoying the unadulterated scent of Stiles. The bedroom was already taking on the younger man’s personality, books scattered around, with a shirt he recognised. He walked over to the bed and looked at the laptop, using his fingerprint to open it to whatever Stiles had been looking at.

Reading through the first few paragraphs, he had a good idea what had been the cause of the text about vanilla bliss – Stiles was fixated on the idea that the whole BDSM thing was about pain, and seeing it in black and white must have been enough to send him scurrying. Perhaps he needed to show him that a little pain could be a good thing?

From the kitchen, he helped himself to a decent bottle of red that he recognised from Talia’s wine cellar – naughty Derek – and a couple of glasses, depositing them onto the bedside table before taking a seat in the bedroom and preparing to wait for Stiles to reappear. He didn’t have to wait long, hearing the front door slam shut and Stiles muttering about machines not working.

The bedroom door opened and Stiles walked in wearing baggy sweatpants and a tight blue tank that made his skin look luminous. He was wearing headphones – something Peter would admonish him for at a later date as it meant he was almost completely deaf to his surroundings. He tapped Stiles on the shoulder, the predator inside relishing the shriek and jump the young man gave. 

“It was nice knowing me, was it?” He smiled at the flush that mounted Stiles’ cheeks, watching as he tugged the headphones out and tossed them onto the bag of washing he deposited on the floor. “Let me remind you just how _nice_ it was!”

He tugged Stiles towards him, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose that had the younger man observing him suspiciously. Then, with no warning, he pushed Stiles down onto the bed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a tie that was familiar to Stiles judging by his slight start. 

“Could this be what you want, sweetheart?” He saw Stiles hesitate before he nodded, holding out his wrists. With careful, deliberate movements, Peter tied his wrists together then pushed his arms over his head and tied them to the bedpost. “You’re going to have to be very quiet – unless you _want_ Derek and Jackson to hear everything I’m going to do to you?”

Stiles shook his head, biting his lip as he looked at his hands then back to Peter. 

“Then don’t make a sound,” Peter said, taking ahold of the waistband of Stiles’ sweatpants and tugging them down and off his body. Stiles gave a squawk of embarrassment, trying to curl up on himself but Peter stopped him, taking one ankle in each hand. “I didn’t say you could hide from me.”

Sliding his hands up and down Stiles’ legs, Peter stared down at him, cataloguing his responses as he explored the muscled length of his legs. He scraped his nails gently down Stiles’ thighs, noticing that despite his hiss of protest, Stiles had stopped trying to pull away. His heart was thudding in his chest, but it wasn’t with fear, his chest flushing with arousal as his cock woke up and showed interest. 

Straddling Stiles’ body on the bed, Peter slid his hands beneath the hem of the blue tank, pushing it slowly up Stiles’ torso until it bunched up, then twisting it inside out and covering Stiles’ face, using the tank as a blindfold. He made sure it was above his mouth and nose, ensuring that Stiles could breathe easily whilst being completely unable to see. Stiles was panting, his hands twisting within the confines of the tie, alternately gripping and releasing the headboard. 

Getting to his feet once more, Peter walked around the bed and reached for the ice bucket he had brought into the room with him, placing it within arm’s reach by the bed. He climbed back onto the bed, keeping one hand away from Stiles’ body as he kissed and licked his way down the young man’s chest, stopping to tease a nipple gently. Before Stiles could relax into things, he ran the ice cube across his bare chest before concentrating on the hard peak of his nipple, teasing it with cold, before enveloping it in the warmth of his mouth.

“Christ!”

“Sssh, sweetheart – you wouldn’t want Derek to know what I’m doing to you in here now would you?”

“No?” Stiles replied, the response sounding more like a question as he writhed in Peter’s embrace. 

“You don’t sound too sure. Is there an exhibitionist streak in you that I didn’t know about, Stiles?”

“I don’t know!” he groaned, in response, arching as far as his arms would allow as Peter dipped the ice cube into his belly button before returning to torture his nipple a little more. He alternated between hot and cold, soft and gentle before nipping with his teeth, whilst Stiles cursed and struggled against the bonds holding him in place. Peter slid down the bed, dropping kisses on the soft skin of Stiles’ belly, before stroking down his thighs with firm hands and pulling his legs further apart. “Peter – “

Pressing his face into the neat bush of pubic hair, Peter inhaled deeply before turning his head and sliding his mouth up and down the hard thrust of Stiles’ cock. Reaching into the bucket, he pulled out another piece of ice and popped it into his mouth. With no further warning, he sucked Stiles’ cock into his mouth, pressing the ice against the sensitive head. The shout Stiles gave echoed around the sparsely decorated bedroom, ringing in Peter’s ears as he sucked hard, tasting Stiles’ release as Peter held down his thighs to prevent him twisting and turning off of the bed. 

Unbearably aroused, he grabbed a condom out of his pocket and rolled it on, covering it with a generous application of lubricant, then ripped the tank down around Stiles' neck. He pulled Stiles’ limp legs over his shoulders as he loomed over the panting man. Notching himself against the spasming hole, he stared down into Stiles’ bleary eyes, fighting to maintain enough control not to let his own eyes flash.

“I would suggest you hold on tight,” he growled before thrusting himself home in one determined push, Stiles desperate cries driving him on towards satisfaction. It took everything within him not to bite the wildly arching neck, smothering his cries inside Stiles’ mouth as his orgasm was dragged from him.

* * *

”Will you stay?” Stiles’ voice was hoarse despite the water Peter had made him drink, a pleasant ache in his limbs and wrists making him vividly aware of what they had just done. What he had let – no _encouraged_ Peter to do with his taunting message. 

“I shouldn’t – I don’t normally sleep with – “

“Please?” The click of the light being turned off was the only response, then warm arms enclosed him and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *


	13. Meeting

When Stiles woke up, he was alone. He sighed but then realised that last night _had_ been a step in the right direction: Peter had stayed and slept with him, even when he said that wasn’t something he did. Getting out of bed, the aches and pains in his body made him smile – it had been _good_. Grabbing some sweatpants, he picked up the ice bucket and headed towards the kitchen. Jackson and Derek were cuddled together on the sofa, and he felt a little envious of how happy they seemed together. There seemed to be no complications – they threw themselves into being together, making the most of every opportunity to enjoy each other’s company. 

“Morning,” Jackson said, a smirk on his face. “You look like you had a good night.”

“I could say the same!” Stiles replied. He poured the water down the sink and rinsed out the ice bucket. “Did you see Peter before he left?”

“Yeah, he said he had some work to do. He also asked me to tell you he was waiting on your response to a contract?” Derek replied, looking over the back of the sofa at Stiles. He nodded in response, a little disappointed that Peter hadn’t said anything else. Still, he had agreed to look at the contract and he would – and after the night they had shared, he had a better idea of what Peter wanted to do to him.

* * *

_Stiles: I have some issues with the paperwork._

Peter read the message and smiled. Leaving Stiles had been incredibly difficult, especially as he’d spent the entire night bathing in the scent of them together, his body more relaxed than he could ever recall. That Stiles was still considering things gave him hope – he hadn’t given up on Peter yet. He thought quickly, then typed out a response.

_I expect nothing less from you, sweetheart. Fire away._

_Stiles: This might get a little long-winded over text._

_Then perhaps I could persuade you to let me take you to dinner? Tonight?_

_Stiles: That doesn’t sound very professional! I think you’re trying to seduce me!_

_Then a business meeting?_

_Stiles: That makes more sense._

_I’ll wear a business suit – you seem to like my ties._

_Stiles: I’ll be wearing a suit of armour – maybe then I’ll manage to keep my clothes on!_

_I wouldn’t count on it!_

Peter couldn’t describe quite how he felt when he saw Stiles emerge from the elevator that evening. He was dressed smartly in suit pants, a crisp white shirt and a jacket. The cut of the pants drew attention to his lean, muscular legs and Peter wished he could ask him to turn around so that he could get a look at his ass – he would bet money that those pants made his ass look amazing. He stepped forward, putting his hand at the base of Stiles’ spine to lead him in the right direction. He couldn’t hold back a smile when Stiles immediately pushed his hand away, saying ‘business meeting” in a firm voice as he stepped away. He nodded his acceptance of the rules, finding he quite liked this new authoritative Stiles. 

“That is a rather amazing suit of armour you’re wearing, Mr Stilinski,” he said, leading Stiles to his office.

“Jackson picked it out for me – he said the pants made my ass look delicious!”

“I’d rather not think of anyone else finding your ass delicious, but I must remember to thank Jackson for his fashion advice nevertheless. Would you like to take a seat?” He watched as Stiles made himself comfortable at the table, pulling the rather crumpled contract out of his jacket pocket and smoothing it onto the table. 

Peter took a seat opposite him, attempting to at least look professional as he spread his copy in front of him. 

“This is all rather impressive,” Stiles said, looking around him slightly nervously.

“I have done this before.” He saw Stiles’ face drop slightly and realised he had misunderstood. “Held a business meeting I meant.”

“Oh, right!” Stiles blushed as he smiled almost shyly. 

“So, Mr Stilinski,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Your meeting – you get to lead,” he stated, watching as Stiles straightened his shoulders and shook himself slightly.  
  
“Okay – I can do this,” Stiles muttered under his breath and Peter smothered a smile. He rather enjoyed the fact that he could hear the little things Stiles said to himself, not realising that Peter could hear them. “Right, first things first. At the top – you need to change it to my new address. Which you obviously have even though I didn’t give it to you.”

“Ah, well, that would be Derek. Jackson made sure to let him have the full address,” Peter replied. “I will make sure that is amended.  
  
“Yeah, well. Anyway – page three, section fifteen-twenty: _The submissive shall submit to any sexual activity demanded by the dominant and shall do so without hesitation or argument._ Like, for real? You expect me to just bend over whenever you feel like it?”

“I would make sure you felt like it too!” Peter replied, smothering a grin at the look of outrage on Stiles’ face. 

“Okay, moving on. Page five, appendix three, “soft limits.””

Peter flipped through the papers on his desk, pulling up the correct page. “I’m with you.”

“Um – anal fisting?” Stiles’ voice went up a little but he maintained his composure.

“Oh yes – I am all ears,” Peter replied, his tone teasing. 

“Strike that out!” Stiles said, sounding more than a little outraged. Peter allowed his disappointment to show on his face but nevertheless ran his pen through that section. “Strike out sounding too.”

“Are you sure? It’s a singularly exciting experience,” Peter stated.

“Well – strike it out. For now, I guess,” Stiles replied, looking unsure. 

“Very well.” Stiles cleared his throat, concentrating on the paperwork in front of him.

“Same page. It says _is the use of sex toys acceptable to the submissive_ ”

“Yes.”

“Anal beads and dildos are okay. Genital clamps though? Absolutely not!”

“Then consider them gone,” Peter said amiably.

“Butt plugs? And vibrating butt plugs?” Stiles’ eyebrows went up, and he flushed an even deeper red as two of Peter’s assistants entered the room with food and wine, placing them on the table between the two of them before leaving silently. “Man, you must go through shit-loads of NDAs!”

“My staff know only what I choose to tell them – please don’t be concerned about that.” Stiles looked a little relieved. “Please continue.”

“I can’t remember where we were,” Stiles admitted.

“Vibrating butt plugs – for example, making you keep one in whilst we are in a public place. It can be – arousing,” Peter said, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of Stiles’ arousal.

“Right, ahem, okay,” Stiles stuttered slightly. “What’s suspension?”

“That would be hanging on ropes from the ceiling. It can be a freeing experience – free from gravity, subjectsto my whims as to how you move,” Peter replied, shifting in his seat. It was taking all of his willpower not to move around the desk and take Stiles into his arms. The young man was emanating such a strong scent of arousal, the want clear in his eyes.   
  
“Your whims, huh?”

“And your pleasure. As is all of this,” Peter said.

“My pleasure?”

“And mine – of course. Something for you to consider.” He watched as Stiles made an obvious effort to strengthen his resolve.

“No. Hard limit.”

“Very well.” It was a little like watching a kitten discover that it had claws, and it was fascinating seeing Stiles take such control. Perhaps he was finally beginning to understand how much control the submissive had over the entire situation. 

“Bondage. I’m good with rope, leather cuffs and handcuffs. But – lose tape please. Other?”

“Like cable ties,” Peter replied helpfully, almost laughing as Stiles recalled their meeting in the store when he had helped Peter pick out some cable ties. “I would like to express my pleasure and how impressed I am with your commitment to this meeting? And in the spirit of that, I am prepared to throw in a sweetener.”

“Oh yeah? This should be good,” Stiles said, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. He was biting his lip, head tilted slightly with interest. “Go on.”

“How about, once a week, on a night of your choosing – we go out on a date. Just like a ‘normal’ couple – dinner, a movie, ice skating. Whatever you want.” He was rewarded by a blinding smile and he realised that there was very little he wouldn’t do to keep that look on Stiles’ face.

“Accepted. That’s – really cool of you. Thank you.”

“You are more than welcome! I’ll have it added to Appendix five.” They swiftly made their way through the rest of the contract, picking at the selection of fruit, sipping at the wine. It was confusing as he couldn’t recall spending time like this with anyone – Stiles made everything seem different. Having finished, he watched as Stiles folded up the paperwork and put it into his pocket and Peter went onto the alert.

“So – Mr Stilinski. After such a successful meeting – “

“Yes?”

“I find that I would really like to fuck you into the middle of next week.” Stiles’ gulp was audible, his mouth dropping open. 

“I – what?”

“I would like to push all of this food and wine onto the floor, strip you out of those delightful pants of yours, lean you over this table and fuck you into next week,” he repeated, keeping his voice even and normal. 

“Wow, you really don’t fight fair do you?” Stiles replied.

“I never have. It’s not in my nature,” Peter warned, getting to his feet. He knew his arousal was obvious in his trousers, his voice husky with anticipation. Stiles got up, hands at his front as he attempted to hide his response. 

“I’ll – I need to review all of these changes. Then I’ll try to arrive at a decision,” he said and Peter took a moment to take in his words.  
  
“You want to _leave_?”  
  
“Well, the meeting is over isn’t it?” Stiles said, shifting backwards. Peter advanced.  
  
“The formal part of the meeting is over. But, my sweet, your body tells me that leaving is the last thing you want to do.”  
  
“It does, huh? What else does it say?”  
  
“Your nipples are hard – enough that I can see them through the thinness of your shirt; your breathing is a little laboured, your cheeks are flushed. And of course – there is a certain part of you that is making it perfectly clear that you don’t actually _want_ to leave. What you want is what we had the other night – you want me to lie you down and – “  
  
“Right here? Lie me down over this table?” Stiles asked.  
  
“Right here. I would slide those trousers down the strength of your legs, part the cheeks of your delicious ass and press my face there! Take in your basest scents before kissing the perfect rosette of your asshole,” Peter said, taking another step forward. Stiles was biting his lip again, his hands gripping the edges of his jacket in a death grip. For just a moment, it looked like he was going to give in then Peter saw the resolve firm in his eyes.   
  
“Thank you for the meeting, Mr Hale,” Stiles said, his voice low and full of repressed need. He turned and walked towards the office door, and cursing inwardly, Peter followed him. They were silent in the elevator as it went down, the air full of unresolved sexual tension. Peter’s hands had transformed into claws and he hid them in his suit jacket pockets, keeping his head averted so that he didn’t inadvertently reveal the flash of his eyes at Stiles. He followed Stiles through the main reception, across the courtyard to where he had parked his car. He unlocked the door of the Jeep before turning back to Peter.  
  
“Didn’t know I was a collector of classic cars, did you?” he said, with a glance at the old Jeep. Unbidden, words escaped Peter’s lips.  
  
“You sure I can’t persuade you to stay?”  
  
“I think you _could_ persuade me to stay but I’d rather you didn’t. I need to think,” Stiles replied honestly. Peter nodded, allowing his disappointment to show but not attempting to make Stiles change his mind. He wanted Stiles to come to him – willingly. With everything that that entailed. “Goodnight, Peter.”  
  
“Why does it sound like you’re telling me goodbye?” Peter asked, feeling his insides clench in something like fear.   
  
“Because I’m leaving,” Stiles replied, leaning to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek before climbing into the Jeep. He started the car then turned to look at Peter.   
  
“Stiles – “ Stiles shook his head and pulled away into traffic, leaving Peter wondering if he would see him again.

* * *


	14. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue catch up for Stiles and Jackson...
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please** let me know if you think I need to add anything to the tags - it is not my intention to trigger or upset anyone with this fic, so if I have neglected to warn for something, just let me know, please. Thanks
> 
> * * *

“Right, it’s been **far** too long since we sat down and talked and there’s been a helluva lot of things happening!” Jackson greeted Stiles’ arrival home with what felt a little like an ambush. “So, we’re gonna sit down, knock back a few shots of tequila and you’re gonna tell me everything that’s going on with Derek’s uncle!” 

Tossing his jacket over the back of the sofa, Stiles reached for the hoodie that Jackson had thoughtfully left waiting for him. The shirt was the next casualty, followed by the pants and soon he was snuggled on the sofa beneath an old blanket in his boxer shorts and a hoodie. 

“That doesn’t look like tequila,” he said, gesturing to the mug in Jackson’s hand. 

“That’s cos I know you and I know you’re more likely to spill the beans drinking hot chocolate than you are alcohol!”

“Good point.” Stealing Jackson’s mug, Stiles took a drink and a deep breath. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted.

“Well, first things first – is it all, like, consensual? He’s not pushing you, right? Because he needs to accept your pace on things – not bulldoze you into things.”

“I think he’s pushing my boundaries, but yeah, it’s all consensual.”

“You don’t sound too sure,” Jackson queried. 

“He’s never hurt me!”

“But? That time he turned up at the club – did you ask him to come and get you?”

“Not exactly,” Stiles admitted. “I kinda drunk dialled him and things went from there.”

“Jesus! And I let him take you away from the club without thinking about it! What kind of friend am I?”

“Don’t be stupid – I was right there, you saw me – I could have used any of our signals to let you know I wasn’t okay if I’d wanted to and I didn’t.” He drank some more, trying to find the right words. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Or maybe it is as bad as it sounds. There’s something about him – something that makes me ignore all the red flags and – “

“Red flags like what?” Jackson sat bolt upright.

“Just – some of the things he’s into, I’m not sure that I am.”

“Like – sexually?”

“Yeah. Like – “

“Kinda kinky maybe?”

“Yeah – that’s it. But more organised kinky than spur of the moment kinky,” Stiles said, aware of how red his cheeks were. 

“If he’s ignoring your wants – if he’s pushing you too hard – just – “

“That’s just it – I’m so confused about how I feel about him, I can’t even say he is ignoring what I want. Like – the first time we had sex – it was all a bit overwhelming and I wanted him to wait but I didn’t. How do I know? How do I figure out what I want?” 

“The first time can be overwhelming for anyone, Stiles. And you’re a little bit more sheltered than most. When you said to wait – did he hurt you or – “

“No – he’s never actually hurt me. I guess it’s all just out of my understanding. I know when I’m with him, I feel more alive than I ever have but – “ He looked over at Jackson. “This thing with Derek – how do you know it’s _right_? How do you know you want to be with him and – “

“Damn, um. I guess, when I’m with him, like you said – I feel alive. And everything about him calls to everything inside me. I like being with him, even if we’re just sitting in silence. And the sex is off the charts insane! Like never before. He wants me to meet his family – says it’s really important to him actually – and I’ve never had that. Never had someone who _wants_ me to meet the people in their life that are important.” Jackson looked shy and unsure, a look Stiles had never really seen before. “I think I might actually love the bastard, which is really inconvenient because I had plans to maybe sleep my way around Europe before settling down.”

“Oh Jacks – you and I both know that’s not who you are. And if Derek makes you feel that way – and he feels the same way too – then I think you should grab it with both hands,” Stiles tried to reassure his friend.

“Does Peter make you feel that way? Should I have not said yes when Derek asked if it was okay to give Peter our address?”

“Don’t worry – you didn’t do anything wrong. I would have given him our address anyhow.” Stiles sighed, handing the hot chocolate back to his friend. “I think I might need to get my head in the game and do what I do best – research: the things he wants, try to figure out what _I_ want.”

“Do you want me to talk to Derek – tell him to get his uncle to back off?”

“God, no! This is between me and Peter! Whatever happens – good or bad – it shouldn’t affect what you’ve got going with Derek.”

“If there was a choice to be made, I’d choose you. Bros before – well you know what I mean. I might _think_ I’m in love with Derek, but I know I love you.” Jackson scowled. “Ugh, all this mushy talk is messing with my brain – I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Well, you did and you can’t take it back!” Stiles yawned, stretching his arms overhead. “That wasn’t _just_ hot chocolate, was it?”

“Hell no! You should know me better than that, Stiles!” Jackson laughed, then lunged over the sofa to pull Stiles into a hug. Stiles hugged him back just as hard – it was good to know that Jackson had his back. Remembering that he had promised both Peter and Jackson that he would do some research, he pulled back. “Just how much booze was in that?”

Jackson quailed slightly at Stiles’ expression. “I wasn’t expecting you to drain what was left so – enough to send your lightweight ass to sleep!”

Tomorrow would have to do.

* * *


	15. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Afrieal for the suggestions regarding BDSM research.
> 
> * * *

By the time graduation came around a week later, Stiles was feeling more sure of himself. He’d spent a chunk of time researching BDSM culture in general – had even managed to attend something called a ‘munch’ in the local area, and he wasn’t feeling like quite the sacrifice.

He’d had an interesting chat with quite a few people at the munch – some of them novices like himself, some of them what could be considered veterans in the scene. All of them had emphasised the need for safe, sane and consensual, but also that he should try to be open-minded. He had a few contact numbers and there were some people there he might get in touch with on a casual basis.

He hadn’t contacted Peter and had heard nothing from him.

His research into the Hale family had been less successful. Despite being prominent members of the business community, they kept themselves to themselves. A few articles were showing Derek with a group of friends on occasion; some charity events where Talia featured; but very little about Peter. It made him feel twitchy – why wouldn’t there be more about him? Nevertheless, Jackson was much reassured when Stiles shared the results with him and that more than anything told Stiles that things between Derek and Jackson were getting serious.

Which left him needing to decide regarding what Peter wanted. And, to be fair, what Stiles was finding more and more interesting.

“I should have worn the John Varvatos,” Jackson said, tugging at his tie.

“Oh for God’s sake, you look like a god-damned model – as usual – which is really unfair because I personally _know_ how late you and Derek were up last night!” Slapping Jackson’s hand away, Stiles straightened his tie and patted him on the chest. “You got your valedictory speech ready yet?”

“D’uh. That was written months ago,” Jackson said arrogantly. “Like they were going to award it to anyone else.”

“Ah – there’s the arrogant asshole I know and love,” Stiles said, pulling Jackson into a brief hug. “And I know this is just going to make your head bigger than ever, but I am proud of you – you did good, Jack-hole.”

“Shut your face, Stilinski,” Jackson replied, holding on tightly. “Listen – are you going to the family meal this weekend? Derek asked me to attend and I would feel a little better about the whole thing if I knew you were going to be there.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Well – yeah! I mean, my Mom and Dad are hardly what you would call good examples of what families are like and I’d like to make a good impression.” Jackson looked uncomfortable. “And if you take the piss – “

“No! No piss-taking here! I don’t know – I haven’t heard from Peter and I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Stiles replied. “Talia invited me but – “

“Well, there you go then – you were invited by the matriarch herself. Settled. Now – we need to – “

“STILES!” Stiles turned upon hearing his name, a huge grin splitting his face when he spotted his father.

“Dad! You made it!”

“Sorry I’m late – I had a hell of a time parking! Ended up using my Sheriff’s plaque!” Stiles accepted the tight hug from his father, pleased that he had made the effort. With Stiles in college, the Sheriff had thrown himself into his work even more which meant that they didn’t get to see each other as often as Stiles would like. Maybe that would change now that he was closer to home. “Besides, there was no way I’d miss my boy’s graduation! This was on the calendar in bright red letters so no one could miss it!”

“I got you seats near to Jackson’s parents – don’t frown, you don’t have to talk to them but I thought it was better than you having to sit alone!”

“I will sit wherever you want me to! They both turned when they realised that people were beginning to enter the auditorium. “Guess I better find my seat. I’m so proud of you, Stiles – good luck out there, Jackson.” Noah followed the crowd into the seating areas and Jackson and Stiles made their way to their graduate seating.

A lot of it passed Stiles by – his brain was busy trying to figure out if going to dinner at the Hale’s was a good idea – when he heard the president of the University speaking.

“And he and his family are major benefactors to our University – please join me in welcoming Peter Hale.” There was loud applause and Stiles watched as Peter appeared on stage. He was dressed in a suit and tie, his facial trimmed perfectly, blue eyes taking in his audience with confidence.

“Thank you – I am deeply moved by the great compliment afforded me today – the opportunity to celebrate, congratulate and address the people who are our future.”

As Peter was speaking, Stiles heard two female graduates whispering near to him.

“He’s absolutely gorgeous – do you think he’s taken?”

“Not according to the press – I heard that he’s an absolute _animal_ in bed!”

“Oh my God, yes – you could just imagine it, couldn’t you?” Unable to resist, Stiles leaned over and spoke to them.

“Sorry, ladies, I heard he’s gay!” He stifled a grin at the look of disappointment on their faces.

“Well, gay or not, I can enjoy the view!” one of them asserted and the other nodded. Peter continued with his speech on-stage, seeming to have spotted Stiles in the crowd of students which seemed impossible.

“Sustainable methods of farming for third world countries. The goal? To eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe. I myself have known what it is like to be profoundly hungry so this is a very personal mission for me. Let’s make this a future we can all be proud of.”

Stiles followed the line of his fellow students towards the stage, his palms growing sweaty as he realised he was going to have to face Peter in front of all of these people. He was aware of the continuous clapping as the line of students moved across the stage and accepted their certificates from Peter, then heard

“Mie – Mieczyslaw Stilinski!” and he was on the stage, heading towards Peter, his breath catching in his throat at his impact up close. He walked up to Peter, taking his outstretched hand.

“Congratulations, you must be very proud,” Peter said, his eyes taking in Stiles’ entire appearance.

“I am. Nice tie by the way – looks a _little_ wrinkled,” he said cheekily, the slight lifting of Peter’s lip acknowledgement of Stiles’ statement.

“I’m glad you like it – it’s rapidly becoming one of my favourites.” Stiles went to walk away but Peter held onto his hand. “Do you have your answer yet?”

“Peter – this isn’t exactly the time or place!” Stiles hissed.

“Stiles – just try it my way – please?” The please was what finally convinced him and he grinned, allowing his fingers to stroke Peter’s palm as he managed to pull away.

“Okay,” he said simply, seeing the shocked pleasure cross Peter’s face. 

“What?” Smirking, Stiles walked away, waving his certificate in the direction that he thought his father might be sitting. It was incredibly satisfying to catch Peter off guard.

* * *

Peter watched from the sidelines as Stiles celebrated with his friends and family. He had been more than a little surprised when Stiles had said okay on the stage – he had expected to do far more convincing than that. He was aware that Stiles had attended a BDSM munch – had noted who he had made friends with, who he had stayed away from – and it was pleasing to know that he hadn’t underestimated the younger man’s intelligence – he wasn’t just taking Peter’s word for things, he was looking into them on his own. He growled slightly when a couple of boys hugged Stiles a little too closely, sensing their interest even if he could quite clearly tell that Stiles wasn’t even aware of it. Sometimes he thought Stiles walked around with blinkers on, completely unaware of his effect on people, but then he couldn’t really complain as it had meant that Stiles was his and his alone. 

Straightening his shoulders, he prepared himself internally for meeting Stiles’ father and walked over.

“I’m so proud of you, Stiles – and your mother would have been too,” Noah said.

“Thank you!”

“And Jackson – excellent valedictorian speech!”

“Thank you, Mr Stilinski,” Jackson replied. 

“It was kinda awesome – even if I’ve been hearing variations on it whilst he rehearsed at home,” Stiles said, earning himself a punch on the shoulder from Jackson. Peter stepped forward, coming to stand at Stiles’ side. 

“Stiles – hi,” he said quietly, feeling Stiles tense at his arrival, his eyes flicking nervously to Peter’s face. 

“Hi Peter,” he replied nervously

“Mr Stilinski – have you met Peter Hale? Stiles’ boyfriend?” Stiles gave a start then glared at Jackson even whilst Noah Stilinski turned to Peter with interest. All of his research into the man said that he was a generally good person. He’d lost his way a little when his wife died, but he had rallied and done his best for his son. He was also an extremely good Sheriff, conscientious and fair.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sheriff Stilinski,” Peter said, holding out his hand. Noah accepted it, looking slightly confused before smiling genially.

“Nice to meet you. Really enjoyed your speech,” Noah said glancing at Stiles. “Sounds like you’re accomplishing great things.”

“Thank you – I do try,” Peter replied. 

“Can’t say my son has told me much about you, but as you’re the first boyfriend I’ve been introduced to then this must be something pretty special,” Noah continued.

“Ah, well – Stiles and my relationship is quite new – hopefully you’ll hear a lot more about me in the future,” Peter said smoothly, sliding his arm around Stiles' waist. 

“Well – I better go and see my family. No doubt, they’re waiting to embarrass me! I’m surprise I haven’t heard Mother over this crowd – normally she’s the loudest one anywhere,” Jackson said, nodding at Peter. He reached out and hugged Noah. “Come and see us in the new place soon, yes?”

“I most definitely will,” Noah replied, patting Jackson on the shoulder. “So – how long have you two known each other?” he said as soon as Jackson had walked away.

“Oh a few weeks now,” Peter replied.

“Yeah – not long really,” Stiles said.

“We actually met when Stiles interviewed me for the student newspaper,” Peter continued. “I was rather captivated by him and things went from there.”

“Excuse me, Mr Hale – would it be possible to get a photo?” The graduation photographer appeared at Peter’s side and he turned towards him. Knowing that Talia had ensured that any photos taken of him at the graduation would pass as ‘normal’, he was perfectly amenable.

“Please excuse us for one second,” Peter said to Noah, guiding Stiles so that they were side by side facing the photographer. 

“No, wait I can step out – “ Stiles began to speak, but the photographer interrupted.

“Big smile please!” From the corner of his eye, Peter caught the shocked glance Stiles sent his way before giving a confused smile. The photographer took full advantage, taking several photos before Peter nodded his dismissal and turned back to Noah. 

“I know that you and Stiles must be going out to celebrate so I won’t intrude – “

“It’s no intrusion – “ Noah began.

“ – and I know Stiles has been looking forward to spending some time with you. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Peter turned to Stiles, sliding his hand over the throbbing pulse at his neck and luxuriating in the wave of scents coming his way. “Sweetheart – I’ll call you later.” Pushing his luck, he leaned forward and kissed Stiles gently on the lips, stepping back before things could get out of hand. “Enjoy your time together.”

He walked away, relishing the flustered expression on Stiles’ face and pleased that he had turned the tables quite nicely.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the Usual Suspects - I hope you enjoy what I've done so far!
> 
> Remember, every mind matters. Take care of your mental health.
> 
> Skar  
> x
> 
> * * *

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gift Giving is Still Reciprocal!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051133) by [Winterlynne_Norvic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlynne_Norvic/pseuds/Winterlynne_Norvic)




End file.
